Hotwired
by sarramaks
Summary: Flack's apartment is destroyed after a seemingly unprovoked attack. With no leads, and no apparant motive, the CSI's must find a way to catch the perpetrator before more devastation is caused. FA, DL angst, DF friendship. Epilogue now up!
1. Chapter 1 It's a Bad Day

_A/N: It's been a long time since I have written any fanfic. I'm currently in the middle of an original novel, but after watching a few episodes of CSI:NY the plot bunnies grabbed me in the night and are now holding me hostage until I have written this. Expect quick updates as I really need to get this out of my system then I can get on with other stuff! I apologise for any non-US phrases. I'm English and I don try to write American, but in the heat of the moment I fail._

_There are spoilers up to whatever TalkCSI has reviewed (4.16 at this point). This is set after Flack suggested to Angell that they get Irish Coffee (pr was that a euphemism for something else perhaps?)._

_Please review - reviews are good for the soul, and how quick I can type._

_Disclaimer: All characters belong to CBS, I don't own them, don't sue. And yes, the title has been nicked from an REM song._

Chapter One – It's a Bad Day

The bar was quiet for a change; just a few people sat round tables, drinking away whatever troubles they were having. Although the manager had banned smoking a few months ago the memories of its scent still lingered, still attached to the furniture and 70's style wallpaper. It was not the most upmarket of bars, but it was one Don Flack liked to frequent; a little away from the cop hangouts, but well enough known as a place where some officers drank to make sure that he didn't end up standing next to his work.

He was sat with his back to the door, sipping at beer. It had been a long day, a long tedious day which had involved a rainforest of paperwork, and an annoying phone call with a DA. He was hoping the evening would provide pleasanter entertainment, although given that the said entertainment was now over half an hour late he wasn't holding his breath.

Flack heard the door swing open, and felt a blast of warm air. The manager was from Scotland, and couldn't cope with more than a few degrees of heat so had installed air conditioning rather than having the place redecorated. He heard footsteps approach the bar, footsteps that belonged to somebody not wearing flat shoes. He looked up and saw his colleague ordering two beers. She shot him a grin and he smiled back. It was hard not to, even after the worst of days, given that she had a grin that lit up his room anyway.

He and Detective Angell had been meeting at least once a week after their shifts had finished for a beer or a coffee; last week they had met three times and for one of those he had hung around for a couple of hours after work, waiting for her to finish up. He wasn't reading anything into, unlike the rest of the department, or at least trying not to. They weren't exactly dates when all you did was talk about work and give each other a bit of support.

Angell placed the beer down in front of him. "And what time do you call this?" Flack said, tapping his watch. "I have people to see, places to go…" He grinned at her and she gave him a wry smile back. She looked tired.

"I'm sorry. I was going to call and let you know I was running late, but I never got round to it," she took a long drink straight from the bottle. "Besides, I had Mulligan lurking round my desk and I knew if he overheard me call you, which he would as he has ears the size of satellite dishes, then we'd be the talk of the water cooler again."

"Fair point," he added. "Though I'm sure it's good for your reputation, you know, to be associated with me."

She held her head back and laughed, long dark brown hair dangling down the back of the chair. "I would argue it's the other way round, seeing as I am the far better looking."

He grinned, blue eyes laughing. It had become a battle of wits with them, and he enjoyed the banter, finding it a refreshing change for some of the other conversations he had to endure.

"How's Danny?" Angell asked, her laughter subsided and face serious.

Flack shrugged. That had been the first time they had gone out after work without any one else from the precinct; the day Danny's gun had been taken by Rikki Sandoval and Flack had broken all sorts of rules to help his friend. He had been one of their work topics of conversation. Flack, to be frank, was worried about him. A concern he had only shared with Angell, knowing that she wouldn't confront Danny, or broadcast Flack's thoughts.

"I don't know, and I don't mean that I'm being ignorant. We went to shoot some hoops last night and his head's in a mess over Ruben's death and this Sandoval woman. He's jumping from one extreme to another," Flack said, pushing away his empty first beer bottle.

"It wasn't his fault – I didn't think she was blaming him?" Angell said.

"She isn't. But they slept together."

"And you think that's wrong?" Angell said. She sat forward, her face pulled in a quizzical expression.

"It's up to him what he does, Jess. He's a grown man. But Danny doesn't deal well with situations like this," he sat back in exasperation and sharply tapped the fingers of both hands on the table.

"You have to let him deal with this himself. She's on her own now she's not got her son, she'll be looking for company. Danny was with her son last – he's the last contact she's got with Ruben, Flack. Danny probably thinks he's making her feel better. In a couple of months they'll have recovered some and he'll have things in perspective," she took another long drink of her beer.

"You thirsty?" Flack said, nodding to the rapidly disappearing liquid.

"It's been a long day," she said.

He nodded and for a moment they both sat there in a comfortable silence.

"You're right about Danny," Flack said eventually. "It's just frustrating sometimes."

"Sometimes Flack, you have to try to not see everything in black and white. There are shades of grey in between, and that's where Danny is right now," she said, an empty bottle now before her.

"I'm a cop. I only do black and white. Clearly you are an impostor," he said, standing up. "You want another, or something more girly?"

She raised her eyebrows. It had been one of his first sarcastic comments, the fact that she drank beer from a bottle and rarely touched anything that could be declared 'girly'.

"My brothers would tan my hide," she said, passing him her empty bottle.

"And I'm sure there are plenty of men who would envy them," he said, smiling.

"Are you trying to trying to tell me something, Detective Flack?" she said, her eyes ablaze, teasing.

He felt himself colour; and his mind go a little too numb to think of a snarky comment. He wasn't used to having this reaction. Angell was pretty and smart and good company, but they worked together – not that that would stop a relationship, it was where his father and mother had met after all. He stopped trying to figure out what was going on in his head and went to the bar instead, ordering himself a whisky and Angell another beer.

"You still telling me that's not your girlfriend?" Colin the barman said in undertones as Flack got there. Flack wondered if something was out to get him, or possibly Angell playing games.

"Has she paid you to say that?" he said rather loudly.

"Hey, you think a girl like that needs to pay someone to say she's got a boyfriend? You must have been eating the wrong kind of cheese or something," Colin said, looking slightly worried at Flack's reaction.

Flack shook his head. "She's not my girlfriend. We're colleagues having a drink after work."

Colin shrugged. "Could have fooled me. If you're out from work, why aren't there more of you? And it's not like you've never been here with just you two before. If someone asked me that, then I would let them believe that she was mine."

Flack looked over at Angell; she had turned round, and was watching them at the bar, her eyes wide. Flack figured she was enjoying the entertainment.

"Keep the change, Colin," he said, knowing he was about to be ambushed as soon as he sat back down.

She looked expectantly at him as he put the beer in front of her.

"I didn't think you would like being referred to as somebody's possession," he said.

She nodded. "I don't, colleague."

He winced. Tonight he did not want to go down this road. There were far too many shades of grey. He just wanted good conversation, a bit of flirting which they had mastered the art of, and maybe some take out food on the way home. He kept telling himself this as the evening wore on, erasing those shades of grey that kept appearing.

Three hours and noodles from a reputable, clean, take away later, they made their way toward Flack's apartment. Angell lived two blocks away from him, but his stop was first. Even after they had first been for a drink after work he hadn't insulted her by offering to walk her home. She was a detective, for crying out loud, and would have been put out if he'd questioned her ability to look after herself.

"You want to nip upstairs and grab that DVD?" he said as they reached his apartment.

"Sure. I can't believe I haven't seen it. Are you sure it's an actual movie and not one you're making up to try and get me into your apartment, Detective Flack?" Angell said. The she looked at him, her eyes piercing and he smiled broadly.

He was glad of the darkness of the street that covered his reddening cheeks. She was becoming his achilles heel. As of yet he hadn't sussed out whether she was seriously flirting with him, or whether it was just a game. "I really do have better lines than that."

"I thought you had no game?" she goaded.

"I don't. Lines don't classify as a game, Angell. If I gave you one of my lines you'd be putty in my hands," he said, entering the elevator. Whether it was the alcohol, or something in the noodles, he wasn't sure, but the shades of grey were lightening to become white.

The elevator halted and they got out. He noticed Angell look worried as they walked along the hall.

"This is a reall movie you know, it isn't a rouse…" he stopped as they came to his door, and he pushed it open. Unlocked.

The apartment had been trashed; draws had been emptied, the contents thrown everywhere. The widescreen TV lay on its front, DVD's strewn about the floor. He stood there, in shock, looking about him, listening to Angell as she called it in, phoning the station. He knew that someone would be there in minutes, they looked after their own.

"Bastards," he said, as she stood next to him.

"They're sending someone over and I think Mac's on his way," she said. He saw her looking up at him and felt a hand on his arm.

"I know I've pissed countless people off, Jess, but so have many cops. This is not the norm. When I get hold of the little shits they are seriously going to wish they had stayed inside their mothers'…"

"Let's wait outside. The less we're in here until Mac arrives the better."

He let her guide him out, fighting the urge to hit something hard. Angell's hand was on the back of his arm still, and he found her touch reassuring. The shades of grey were gone. Now there was just black and white. He wanted to know who had done this and, most of all, why.

-&-

Detective Mac Taylor looked at the scene in front of him. Someone had been having fun. Clothes and belongings had been scattered around the room, completely inconsistent with anything being searched. Nothing was systematic. It appeared that the aim had been to create as much chaos as possible.

Stella was behind him, checking the door for prints. He doubted they'd have any, except Flack's and Angell's. The kitchen cupboards and drawers had been emptied; even the fridge had been tossed inside out.

There was no blood, no obvious signs of anyone having been injured. One of his first theories on the way there had been that Flack's apartment had been used to dump a body, maybe to try and incriminate him in some way, or as revenge. That now seemed empty. Mac could hear Flack from outside, sounding irate and frustrated. Detective Angell was trying to pull information out of him about who could have been behind this devastation of his property, asking about ex-girlfriends who maybe wanted revenge, a line of questioning that would have made Mac chuckle had it been appropriate. He turned round and looked at Hawkes who shrugged. Flack, it seemed, had many enemies, but most were behind bars as far as they knew.

Mac stepped into the bedroom, noticing Flack's ties flung around the room. Spray paint had been used over his clothes, expensive suits and shoes; designer clothing that was one of Flack's few vices. Mac looked for the can that had done the damage – no other room had been grafittied. The drawers of the dresser were still closed, the only ones so far. Whoever had done this had known enough about Flack to know how to hurt him. He wasn't especially vain, but he valued looking smart, as had his father. Why leave drawers filled with what he valued most empty.

He crouched down by them, and dusted them for prints. None. He wasn't surprised. The middle drawer was slightly, slightly ajar. He moved closer to it and then backed away suddenly. "Out!" he called. "Everybody out! Get the building evacuated now!"

_Please review!! The plot bunnies might feed me if they know you like it enough..._


	2. Chapter 2 Whisky for the Soul

_A/N: Thank you to those who reviewed the last chapter. The responses make it all worthwhile. If there's anything you would like to see happen, or you think a certain bit of info should be included, then PM me or review. I have no mapped out plan as to where this is going (except the gutter at some point!)_

_Disclaimer: as per first chapter._

Chapter Two – Whisky for the Soul

Flack watched from the ground as his lounge window became simply a blackened hole in the wall. People swarmed around him; emergency response teams hovered, parents with children who were crying from having their sleep disturbed, elderly people swathed in bath robes, and colleagues from his precinct, wanting to make sure their own was okay.

"Another half an hour folks and you should be allowed in," he heard Mac call as he came out of the building. It had been a controlled explosion. How controlled he wasn't yet sure, given the state of what it looked like from the outside.

Stella stood next to him, hands in the pockets of her jacket. "I would offer you a place to stay," she said. "But we're pretty much in the same predicament."

He nodded, her comment easing the tension in his shoulders. "No one was hurt; everyone was out on time, even Mrs Jacobsen's cat. The super was a bit surprised about that, seeing as there's a no pet policy."

"What were in the unopened drawers?" Stella asked as Mac approached.

"Photo albums, check books. Nothing of any value other than sentimental," Flack shrugged. Thank God he hadn't gone into the bedroom. He knew against all his training and instincts, he would have opened the drawers, which was what he was probably intended to have done. It was different when you were on the receiving end of the crime.

"I'm sorry, Flack," Mac said, standing with them. "There will be some bits that are salvageable, but much of it will need replacing."

Flack shrugged. "I'm alive. It could have been worse," he repeated. It sounded heroic, he knew, but he had come close to death before, and although this was nowhere as close it made a few suits and an old leather couch seem worthless.

"There was very little evidence to be found from what we looked at before the bomb was detonated. Obviously, we'll be back in there as soon as it's safe and we'll do what we can to find whoever did this. Any ideas where you can stay?" Mac's voice was quiet. His eyes were filled with concern, but Flack knew that the Mac he was speaking to now was the CSI, the professional. He would be waiting to get in there, into the shell that was left of his home, and do his job. "Danny has a spare room, I'm sure he'll be more than happy to put you up."

Flack noticed Stella shaking her head. "I think Don could do with somewhere where's there's a bit less going on at the moment." Mac raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

"He's welcome to stay with me," Flack turned around and saw Angell approaching behind them. "It's close to your apartment here, and it's quiet. Up to you."

Flack noticed Mac and Stella exchanging glances. "Yeah, that sounds great, Jess. Thank you." She nodded in her matter-of-fact way and he wondered if she was ever fazed by anything.

"You know you can't work this case, don't you, Flack," Mac said. "We need you away from the crime scene while we investigate."

"I know all that, Mac. I can't compromise the case and I know you will keep me informed with what ever you find," Flack said, feeling frustrated and letting it show in his tone. He wondered who his boss would allocate the case to.

"I'm on it," she spoke the words as if she had read his mind. "Paul Cooke is overseeing the investigation tonight, and we have several officers collecting witness statements already."

"The sooner the better. You're not on duty though – and you've drank alcohol," he said, feeling a sudden chill. He knew he was in some state of shock, and although the night was warm, hot even, he was beginning to feel cold.

"Cookie's off on vacation tomorrow, so he's handing over to me at 8am," Angell said. "Which means I need to get some sleep."

"You should go, Flack. There's nothing for you to do around here," Mac said. The fire department had begun to call people back inside, certain floors being declared completely safe. "Besides, you look dreadful. Go back with Detective Angell and have a coffee, preferably decaf."

He headed off; having spoken to those he needed to. Mac was right, nothing more could be done tonight. He glanced at Angell as they walked down the street, noticing that she looked pale and tired. Now she had to put up with him in her home, when probably she wanted an easy night, knowing that tomorrow was likely to be a hard day.

"Hey, I can book into a hotel, you know if this is inconvenient. You've already been through enough tonight," he said, instinctively grabbing her arm and halting her walk. They could have both been hurt badly. He'd been in one explosion and that was enough. He had no desire to go through another, or have anyone he cared about be in that predicament.

"It's fine, Flack. I have some old shorts and a t-shirt you can sleep in. It's too late now to check in at a hotel – stay with me for as long as you need," she said, smiling tiredly. "I agree with Stella – Danny's wouldn't have been a good idea."

Flack nodded as they approached her apartment block. It was built in the same style as his, and he felt unnerved as they went up the elevator to the fifth floor. Neither spoke, as if waiting for déjà vu. Flack fought the urge to enter her apartment first as she unlocked the door, feeling paranoid, and stupidly so, for imagining that some being was out to get the whole of NYPD that evening.

Angell's home was tidy, and he saw the look of relief on her face as they entered. "No one's been in here," she said. "It's usually this messy." It wasn't. Everywhere looked clean and neat, plainly decorated. There was nothing to give her away as a secret girly-girl, a fact he made a comment on.

She laughed. "I told you I had four older brothers. I had no chance of ever wearing anything pink! I didn't get dolls, I was given action men! Have a seat." She gestured to the couch and he sat down, exhaustion gripping him like a vice. He heard her in the kitchen, clearly making coffee, and felt a sudden thirst.

Flack was woken by the sound of the coffee cup being placed down next to him, the aroma of it strong. "Irish coffee?" he said, slurring slightly.

Angell nodded, sipping at hers. "It will help you sleep." He felt her eyes on him, as if she was trying to read his thoughts, something she seemed worryingly good at. "I'm sorry about what's happened to your place and your things."

Flack picked up his cup, scalding his mouth as he took a taste. He had no idea how she drank it so hot. "I'm alive," he said simply. "Clearly I wasn't meant to be. I might need to have a bit of a shopping spree to replace some of those suits."

"And ties," she said. He feigned a glare at her. "I'll show you the bedroom." Any other day he would have had something to say back, but his mind seemed to have lost those capabilities with most of his belongings. "I'm sorry the sheets aren't fresh. I changed the bedding at the weekend, but haven't had time to do the laundry… what?" his look stopped her.

"I'm not taking up your bed. I'll have the sofa. I'll sleep anywhere, especially after the amount of whisky you've laced this coffee with!" he said. He might not walk her home for fear of insulting her, but take her bed he would not.

"Flack, try sleeping on the sofa and I'll get on there with you," she said, switching on a bedside lamp.

The image of her sleeping next to him replaced the one of his burnt out apartment, and for a moment sleeping on the sofa seemed the correct course of action. "Jess, it would dent my male pride to take your bed…"

"Then tomorrow night we'll swap. Flack, you lost your home tonight. Stop trying to be the hero for once. We can argue about it tomorrow," her tone was softer than he had heard before. She opened a drawer and pulled out a well washed t-shirt and old men's shorts. "They're my father's before you ask from many years ago. I'll see you in the morning. There are clean towels in the cupboard in the bathroom - help yourself to whatever you need." She lent over and brushed his cheek with her lips, and for a long moment he wished. He ceased his protesting, figuring that she was was going to win even if she had to tie him down, a thought that would come back to him at a more appropriate moment. He stripped and pulled on what she had given him. He was glad she had said that they were her father's and not an ex's, a thought that made him kick himself for being territorial. Flack sat down on the edge of the bed and took a deep breath. He had insurance for his belongings luckily, but someone had been into his home and wrecked it. He pulled back the sheets and slid in between them, trying to let the anger building within him evaporate, focusing on something else, anything else.

The pillows smelt of Angell, which along with the whisky acted as a soporific. He could hear her moving about the apartment, pulling out the sofa to make it into a bed, running taps and the sound of locks bolting the apartment door. He knew that tomorrow he would be ablaze with fury at what had happened, but for now, he realised, he was still in shock. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of Angell's shampoo, simple and clean, and wished he was in this bed under different circumstances, ignoring the shades of grey.

-&-

The curtains weren't thick enough to keep out the fluorescent lighting from outside, and Angell wished she had invested in blackout curtains instead. But then, she had never anticipated sleeping on the sofa bed. She was passed tired, and her mind wasn't for calming down, a hundred and one things rampaging through it. At first, she had thought that the desecration of Flack's apartment was down to an ex-girlfriend, a theory he had dismissed with extreme cutting. The bomb that had been set up made it seem too dramatic to be an ex after revenge; it had been done by someone who had meant to cause a great deal of harm, more than what had actually occurred.

Angell sat up and listened to the silence. She wasn't paranoid about someone attempting to harm her or her home, but it was nice to hear the quiet, with the occasional familiar noise breaking it. It also felt nice having someone else in the apartment with her, even if it meant her having to sleep on the sofa. She heard Flack turn over in the bed and hoped he was managing to sleep. They got on well and had rapport, something they had discovered after working over a year in the same department but never on the same shifts or cases. She found him attractive, but not really her type, until he she had made him blush and realised he wasn't the lady-killer she had assumed. So far, their relationship had remained professional, no dates or dinners, unless you counted take-outs on the way home. He had never walked her home, and although they had flirted, until tonight there had been no deliberate physical contact.

The brush of her lips on his cheek had been instinctive and not regretted. Angell didn't regret much, there was no need to if you made the right decisions. She was aware she liked Flack, more than platonically, and that those feelings were growing. But now was not the time to make a show of them; like Danny he was now vulnerable, although to a lesser extent. And anyway, those things left to mature longest tasted better in the end.

As she fell asleep, the faces of convicted felons jumped over fences as she tried to piece bits of a pictureless jigsaw together. Both Angell's and Flack's dreams were peaceful, the lull of the whisky soothing restless souls to sleep and the sounds of footsteps outside never awakening them.

_weiver x_


	3. Chapter 3 Confused

_A/N: Thank you to those who reviewed the last chapter - you make my inbox smile and dance a little dance._

_Usual disclaimer applies._

Chapter Three – Confused

The station was roaring with what had happened the previous night. Theories were being cast like small nets in a big sea, dredging up Flack's cases from back when he was a rookie cop to the previous week's successful conviction. Angell listened carefully, knowing that there was the possibility that treasure was to be had, however modest. Cookie had handed the case over to her before escaping to grab his suit case and head off to the Caribbean, glad to be rid of the albatross that was now hung around her neck. Flack had been left to sleep, and Angell was relieved his presence was missing, given some of the comment being made. Flack in a temper would be difficult to interview, and she could do without his fireworks being set off beforehand.

The witness statements had offered very little. Neither of Flack's neighbours had been in, getting home just after the building had been evacuated. Both neighbours had suffered minor damage to their apartments, but were particularly understanding, although one expressed the hope that the detective would now find another apartment. Angell smelt something illegal going on in Miss Wolinski's apartment, but passed up on the opportunity to delve any deeper. No doubt it would at some point come to light, and it seemed irrelevant to the bomb. An old man across from Flack had heard the voices of two men walking down the hall at half past seven, but after some digging, the voices could be accounted to the brothers of Mr Hilton, four doors down. So far, things were drawing a huge blank. No unusual faces had been spotted, no suspicious behaviours, no one walking around with an 'I'm up to no good' t-shirt on. Angell sat back in her chair and ran a hand through her hair. Nothing was standing out; no one had been released recently who may have wanted some sort of revenge, no relatives appeared to have been holding a grudge – it was a minefield of small 'could-be's'.

"Coffee?" she looked up to see the victim in question holding two cups. She took the one he offered her and he sat down opposite. "You should have woken me. I'm crabby if I have too much sleep."

"I shall bear that in mind for future reference," she said, taking the lid off. Cinnamon latte with chocolate sprinkles. "How was my bed?"

He looked at her with a smirk. "Big."

Angell eyed him and raised her eyebrows, questioning his statement. His eyes twinkled in answer and she felt a sudden rush to her stomach and legs. "We need to go to interview room seven," she said abruptly, changing the subject.

He nodded, and for a second looked morose. She fought an urge to touch him again, playing with an elastic band instead.

"Let's go and get it over with then I can get back to my job," he said, standing.

She nodded, following him across the room. It was common knowledge amongst their colleagues that Flack had stayed at her's the night before. When asked, she had nodded, refraining from comment. Her father had been a firm believer in the lady protesting too much, and she had learnt that denial could often be interpreted as admittance early on, after sneaking a boy back into her room, the remaining t-shirt too small to fit any of her brothers.

"You haven't said anything about me working today," Flack said, almost looking annoyed at the fact.

"I wouldn't have expected you not to," she said, her tone level and unperturbed. She switched on the recorder, stating the date and time. Flack held his head in his hands as she went through the formalities. It needn't have been recorded, they both knew, but any investigation where a cop was the victim needed to be free from holes.

"Can you tell me what happened when you reached your apartment?" Angell said. Flack went through step by step what had occurred, describing in precise detail what they had seen when the door to his home had opened.

She found it strange, listening to him recount the experience and mentioning her name, referring to her as 'Jess'. She realised that their relationship had changed, that it had gone beyond the stage of flirting colleagues to something with more substance.

Flack reached over and paused the tape, looking up at her. She put her note pad down, it was unnecessary with the tape, but she liked to see things spelt out. "Are you okay, Jess?"

Angell nodded. "I'm fine. It's all in a day's work, I suppose," she said, knowing he was referring to last night.

He stared at her, waiting.

She rolled her eyes and moved her head back then nodded. "Okay. It's unnerving. It still feels unreal."

"I'm sorry."

She was taken back by his apology. "Sorry for what?"

He shrugged. "For your being there. For mentioning that stupid film. I don't know – I'm sorry that you could have been hurt."

She frowned at him. "I could be hurt every day, Flack. It's a choice that we all make doing this job."

"But last night you weren't doing your job. Coming back to pick up a DVD doesn't have neon flashing across it saying 'watch out for bombs'."

She struggled with a smile.

"What?" he said, indignantly, observant eyes having picked up on it.

"You're trying to protect me, and you feel guilty that you couldn't have stopped me getting hurt."

"No I'm not!"

She laughed. "Don't lie. You are. You feel bad because you nearly got me hurt."

He spluttered. "I did not nearly get you hurt! And I'm not feeling guilty! I'm just…" he looked away,

Angell observed him, wondering what the end of the sentence was. The teasing tone had exited the room. She let it go. Flack would end the sentence in his own sweet time. She reached over and began recording again, making eye contact with his piercing blues once more. He held the look for longer than necessary, leaving an empty space on the tape.

"Detective Flack, can you think of anyone who may have reason to want to harm you and your property?"

He reeled off names of felons, both in jail and out, listing the reasons they might have, or crimes committed that echoed the night before. None seemed to have enough substance, but all would need looking into.

"Is there anyone else, ex-girlfriends for instance who may have reason to harm you?" she had to ask again, even though it had been mentioned previously.

"My relationships have always ended amicably," he said. His eyes met hers once more and she struggled to hold their gaze. "I can give you a list of women I have dated and their numbers if you wish to question any."

"We may need that information at a later date," she said, looking at her notepad, able to break the look. It would be interesting to see what Flack's list of exes contained.

"Does anything strike you about the case, Detective?" he said.

"I'm not sure if it was personal toward you or someone with an attachment to you," she said. "I've looked through recent cases, and cases where the felon has been recently released, and nothing is obvious, so I can only conclude that we're looking at this the wrong way."

Flack nodded, and looked at the tape. She concluded the interview and switched it off.

"There's not just _my_ case history to check," he said, arms folded.

She nodded, hearing what wasn't being said.

"I wouldn't necessarily jump to a connection with your father. There are other people a perp may take an interest in."

"Danny, Mac, Stella… you," he said, watching her reaction.

Angell shook her head. "It won't be one of mine. If I look back at my convictions then I need to check others' too."

"Start with Flack Senior," he said. "But don't make it public."

"Is there something you should tell me?" Angell said seriously. Flack's father was legendary. A good cop, with an excellent record, unblemished.

"Not as far as I know, but I haven't spoken to my father in a good few weeks, and that's not for want of trying. According to mom he's always out fishing, or in the garden – enjoying his retirement," the tone was sarcastic.

"He's avoiding you."

"That would be my conclusion."

"I'll start there. Once I've re questioned a few potential witnesses. There maybe something that was missed last night." It had been chaotic, and from Cookie's report a few people had yet to be interviewed for one reason or another.

Flack stood up, taking the empty coffee cup with him. He paused before opening the door. "Hey, Jess?"

She looked up at him.

"What's for dinner?"

She stood up, hands on hips, eyes coy. "I don't know, sweetheart, why don't you pick something up while you're buying yourself something pretty?"

The corners of his mouth twitched, and she found herself trying desperately not to smile.

"Some would argue that I'm pretty enough. Enough to rival you in a Kevlar vest maybe."

"Is that your game again, Flack?" she said, enjoying bringing out the colour in his cheeks.

"I told you, I have no game," he said. "Things get more confusing that what they already are when you play games," he said, after a brief silence.

She met his eyes, the coyness and teasing gone. He had finished his sentence.

-&-

Mac Taylor stepped back from the microscope and slid another slide in place. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. So far, there hadn't been one drop of evidence that could give them a lead on who had destroyed Flack's apartment. There had been no fingerprints that shouldn't have been there, no hairs that had been recovered. Even the parts from the bomb that had been recovered held no secrets. The ingredients of it were common place, everyday household objects, cleverly put together. He had sent a list of them to Detective Angell to see if they matched with any information she had. The paint from the spray can was also untraceable, too common to be narrowed down to one wholesaler. Whoever had done it knew exactly how to play the game.

"Anything?" Stella said, breezing into the lab. A body had turned up in a dumpster three blocks from the lab and Stella had been assigned to that, Danny assisting her.

Mac shook his head. "Nothing." He shook his head and removed his gloves. "I've been through what we've got twice - it seems as if this was done by a ghost."

"You know as well as I do that that can't be true," she said, pulling on a lab coat from the stand behind them. "Somewhere there will be evidence, we just have to find it."

"I can only think it was done by somebody familiar in the building. No one noticed anything. Someone has seen this person or persons enter the building and head up to Flack's apartment, and hasn't realised what they saw."

"Angell's re-interviewing the residents on Flack's floor. Tag along with her," Stella said.

Mac nodded, discarding his lab coat. "She's here now?"

"So's Flack. He's working the dumpster case."

"Good. He's best being kept busy."

He headed into the main corridor where Flack was stood with Detective Angell. He heard details of the body in the dumpster echo in the air and saw Angell nodding, passing comment.

"You mind if I accompany you?" he said to Angell once their attention was on him.

"I was hoping you would," Angell said, her hands in her pockets, a habit Mac wished he could cure her of.

"How you doing?" he asked Flack. He noticed that the detective didn't look as ruffled as he would have imagined.

"Better than you would expect. I had suits at the dry cleaners so they bastards didn't manage to destroy everything," Flack said. "Is Stella upstairs?"

"Go on up. I imagine she's expecting you."

"I'll catch you later, Mac." He strode away, nodding to Angell as he disappeared.

-&-

"Someone must have seen something," Mac reiterated once in the car with Angell. "They've seen something they thought was ordinary and not bothered to report it. If I can track back noises or sightings, I may be able to pin point some evidence."

"Let's start with Mrs McNaugton who lives across the landing from Flack. She seems to be a stereotypical nosey neighbour," Angell said, pulling into a parking space.

Two and a half hours later, Mac found himself sat on a battered leather sofa listening to the hazed memories of a man who was a few days in need of a shave and stunk of marijuana.

"This was last night? I don't remember no evacuation," Larry stubbed out a cigarette. "Hang on, yeah, that's right. My girlfriend dragged me out of bed. Was that something to do with the alarm check they did yesterday afternoon?"

Mac saw Angell looking at him. No one had mentioned anything about an alarm check. Larry was the first. He's avoided interview last night, Cookie reporting that Larry had been too stoned to have been coherent.

"Was that for the fire alarm, Mr Greenwood?" he said.

Larry shrugged. "I guess. I didn't pay much attention. There were these two guys walking down the hallway carrying wires. One just said they were checking the alarms."

"What time was this?" Angell said.

"About four. I'm not real good with time."

"Can you remember what they looked like?" she continued to ask, seeming relaxed, as if it wasn't anything important.

"One was tall and dark and the other was short and dark. They had a toolkit. The tall one had a packet of cigs on him and I borrowed one off him."

Mac looked around the apartment. It looked like it was regularly tidied, except for the bit in front of the TV, which was where Larry probably spent his days. Two ashtrays were almost full. Mac suspected that was just from today.

"What brand were they?" Mac asked.

"I don't remember, man. I ain't much good with detail," Larry looked itchy, and Mac figured he was ready for another joint, their visit having taken enough of his chilled day away.

"You might find it easier to remember detail down at the station, what do you think?" he suggested, standing up.

"You ain't going to search the place?" Larry said, standing too.

"As long as your memory improves," Angell said.

Larry looked at her, eye narrowing and a slight lick of his lips. "I ain't never gonna forget you," he said.

"Really?" Angell said. "I think you'll be absent from my memories. Let's go."

_Hope you enjoyed! Please review if you've read it, even if it's just to say hi! _


	4. Chapter 4 Just Friends

_Thank you to those who reviewed the chapter - your comments have really spurred me on! It's great to know that you're enjoying it._

_This chapter deals more with the personal side of Flack and Angell, there will be more focused on the case next chapter! Enjoy._

_Usual disclaimer applies._

Chapter Four – Just Friends

The sky had performed a multitude of colours by the time Flack returned to Angell's apartment. It was now pitch black and starless, clouds concealing the moon and suffocating any light that it was trying to give. He let himself in with the key Angell had left out for him that morning, feeling slightly strange at not being back at his own place. He had stopped by there on the way, assessing the damage and what was left of his belongings. Very little remained from his three years of living there; a few pans from the kitchen and one or two random objects which weren't of any use. As soon as it was released from being a crime scene he planned to have it cleared and the keys handed back over to the landlord. For some time he had been considering buying his own apartment instead of renting, and now seemed as good a time as any.

Soft jazz music was playing as he entered, the ceiling lights switched off, low lamps on. He heard the sound of the shower switch off and saw a bottle of Tanqueray stood open on the kitchen work top. He hadn't known that Angell liked gin. He sat down on the sofa on which she had slept last night, the spare duvet hung over the back, and took in the smell of her. It had an odd familiarity to it; one that was strangely exciting and secure at the same time. Flack rested his head back against the cushions and let the sounds of the music overtake his thoughts. He knew that he and Angell hadn't been having drinks after work just because it was sociable and they got along; there was more to it than that, that was undeniable, but thinking about it hurt. It needed a discussion, but he wasn't sure whether he was ready to have that talk just yet.

She emerged from the bathroom wearing a robe, her hair dried damp and dangling down her back, patches of wet highlighting the lightness of the material. All thoughts of his home and the reason why he was sat on the sofa in Jessica Angell's apartment left his mind as she came into the lounge. For a moment a comment paused at his lips, but he swallowed it, letting the silence hang, but not taking his eyes off her.

She said nothing, meeting his gaze, knowing in her eyes. He knew neither of them had really hidden the chemistry between them, letting it grow instead, but never acting on it. He valued her as a professional, as a friend even, and as an equal. And that was what put this situation into the grey. Girlfriends came and went, never hanging round for too long as they tired of each other, the bond not fully connected.

Angell picked up the drink from the small coffee table and sat down opposite him.

"Help yourself to whatever you need," she said, her eyes not leaving him. He wondered what they had read.

"You have limes?" he said, standing. He noticed a leg that was left uncovered by the robe.

"In the cooler," she said. "I'll have a top up." She passed her glass, and as he took it he wondered how two cops had managed to be in the same room together and not yet mentioned their cases, especially as one involved him personally.

"How did it go today?" he called from the kitchen - shop talk was safe.

"Interesting. You heard about Larry and his pictures?"

"Mac filled me in. You been to see dad yet?"

He heard footsteps and he was aware that she was stood in the doorway. He didn't turn round, continuing to slice the lime, squeezing it round the lip of the glass, every inch of him aware of her presence. How long they would have continued to have their drinks after shifts before something would have occurred he didn't know, but he would have guessed it would have been a long time, this dance they had was almost too pleasurable to give up in some ways, the anticipation too sweet.

"Tomorrow. I called this evening and arranged a time. He sounds a nice guy."

Flack nodded, pouring tonic. "He is." He turned around and handed her the drink.

"I feel I should ask you how your day was, but I don't want to. I'm more concerned that we've been in close proximity for ten minutes and you haven't made a single semi-biting remark yet?" she took a step closer to him, the breakfast bar separating them.

"I am capable of having a conversation without semi-biting remarks, you know," he paused, feeling he had been curt. He didn't want her to only see that side of him, and yet again he was reminded that whatever it was they had, had depths that were as yet unknown. "Are you sure you don't mind me staying here?" he said, walking round the things he wanted to say.

"Why? Are you bothered by this?" her hand gestured between them. "Because we're very good at dancing round it."

Flack looked away, staring at his shoes and nodded. "Yeah, I am bothered by it, Jess," he said. She looked taken aback slightly by his bluntness. "I like you, and yeah, I know you already know that. And I figure that it doesn't bother you because you like me too. But," he paused, thinking of how to phrase it. "I don't want this to be a repercussion of what happened last night. I don't need an emotional crutch…"

"And I never said I'd be one," she interrupted. He saw fire flaring in her eyes and resisted urges he thought impossible. "There doesn't have to be some pattern that we follow with this, Flack. I'm not going to go out of my way to stop you liking me, but I'm not going to jump your bones either." He chuckled at her phrasing. She sipped her drink, holding his eyes with her own. Feisty didn't do her justice and he mentally discarded the kid gloves, knowing he needed fire retardants instead.

"You want to go put some clothes on and go get something to eat?" he said, feeling the cool of the iced drink seep through his veins.

"Are you asking me on a date, Flack?" the answer came.

"It depends on how you define a date."

-&-

Angell emerged ten minutes later wearing jeans and a black v-neck top. She had no idea where exactly Flack had in mind to get dinner. Knowing Flack and his obsession with food it could be the nearest open diner. Flack was waiting for her, sat on the sofa wearing trousers and a white shirt. He tapped his fingers impatiently, his eyes twinkling as he glared.

"Maybe you should get back changed again and we'll get take-out," he said, a tone to his voice that sent shivers through her skin.

"You promised me dinner if I dressed. I don't expect my men to let me down," she said, picking up her purse, aware that his eyes hadn't let her.

"That would depend if I was one of 'your' men? Are there many, Jessica?"

"Why do you want to know?" she headed toward the door. He followed, getting there before her after a few large strides and holding it open.

"Because I like to be well informed about my cases," he said.

"You sure you're not just finding out about the competition?" she said. The game between them had gone up a level; their attraction was no longer a badly kept secret, and she found their flirting more teasing than ever before, nothing was stopping either of them making a move, yet neither of them seemed willing to be the one that finally jumped in at the deep end.

"Maybe I am," he locked the door behind them and they walked in silence to the elevator. "Where do you want to eat?"

"I thought you would have had something in mind already?" she said. "I know you like your food."

"But I'm not picky about where I eat."

"I know that. As long as it's sanitary."

"Or as long as I don't see any rats," she could have sworn he shuddered.

"There's a good Italian three blocks away," Angell said. "I can vouch for its food hygiene certificate."

Flack nodded, and she led the way, teasing him mercilessly about any incidents he'd had with food that she could remember. The conversation was easy and light, the heaviness of a few minutes earlier evaporated. There were a couple of moments when their hands brushed as they walked, one of which caused her to trip up over a word, earning her a knowing smirk from Flack, but everything was left unsaid and smouldering.

Angell let herself analyse the situation, their situation. Her father had been almost happy for her to go into the police, but warned her off dating colleagues. He knew the strain his job had placed on his marriage, and he also knew the life that cops led. You grew close to those you worked with, occasionally your life fell into their hands, and after several weeks, months, years of working with the same person affairs and broken marriages were common place, especially when, like Angell's mother, it was difficult to comprehend the everyday horrors that were seen whilst on the job.

She gave herself a mental pinch, a much needed reality check. They were colleagues who had a spark, and were also friends. That did not mean that they were about to embark on a life changing, baby inducing relationship.

"Earth to Jess," she heard Flack say. "Penny for your thoughts."

She laughed, noticing the restaurant a few doors down. "Enzo's," she said. "I was just imagining the taste of their pasta puttanesca…"

"That's bullshit, Angell, and you know it. You were thinking about me." _Damn, she had forgotten he was a good cop._

"What makes you so cock-sure?" she pushed the door open to the restaurant, the smells of food and wine hitting them.

He shrugged.

"You're used to having girls think about you, so you know the 'the look'?" she said, knowing that she was goading him. Flack didn't have the reputation of a Lothario, his job had come before any relationship so far, and would he prefer a ball game to having to take the time to seduce a woman. But the string of girlfriends – none that ever lasted that long – had made him the stuff of stories and jokes around the precinct.

He looked serious as they were led to the table, the candlelight hiding the shabbiness of the establishment, and she wondered if she had somehow overstepped the mark.

"I'm not like that, Jess," he began once they had ordered drinks. "I don't have a string of women hanging on my every word."

She smiled, trying to bite back words.

"What?" he said.

"Your sharp tongue would cut the string."

He nodded, slightly laughing. "That has happened, I suppose, but not with a string of women," he paused. "What about you – you have your own fan club."

"Amongst middle-aged cops who need something to fantasize about while out on traffic detail," she raised her eyebrows, daring him to deny it.

"Some are less than middle-aged, you know," he said, a vulnerability coming into his eyes that she hadn't seen before. It quietened her, the almost-silence only being broken by the waiter bringing over their drinks.

"Are you confessing to being a member then, Detective Flack?" she said.

"I have often admired how well you wear Kevlar."

She felt herself redden, knowing he meant it and finding herself flattered once more at the comment. "How's Danny?" Angell said, realising she needed a change of subject. "I haven't really seen him to speak to for a couple of days."

"I saw him at lunch. He seems okay. He's offered me a bed at his if you need your space," it was a question more than a statement.

"Stay as long as you want. We'll take turns with the sofa. I mean that, Flack," knowing that he was coming back to her apartment tonight had given her a little spring to her step. Although she would have much preferred his home to be as it were forty-eight hours previously, she was liking his presence.

He nodded. "Thanks. I appreciate it. Technically I suppose I'm homeless so it's nice to have friends who don't mind a little intrusion."

She smiled. "Hey, as long as you can put up with me lounging round in pyjamas and the constant smell of coffee…"

"And the ultra long showers you take," he added. "May have to think of some ways of conserving water."

The waiter came over before she had a chance to respond, leaving Flack smirking subtly.

"Have you chosen your meals?" he said, looking keenly at them. Angell glanced at Flack like a naughty school girl; their banter had gotten in the way of any decision making.

"I'll let the lady choose for me," Flack said.

She raised her eyebrows in question, wondering if this was some sort of task she had to pass, not that it was a difficult one. "Bruschetta and Bistecca alla Fiorentine," she said.

"For both?"

Angell nodded. "For both." The waiter disappeared. "I saw Lindsay today."

"What's her story?" Flack said, taking a long drink of the beer he had.

"She's down about what's happened with her and Danny. I think she thought it was more than he did."

"Danny can be like that. He'll be really into something for awhile, and then it loses its appeal. Fickle isn't the right word, but his mind moves too quickly sometimes. She okay?"

"I think so. I imagine she's holding out hoping that something will work out between them. They're getting along alright, I just hope she's not reading too much into it, especially as he's back to being his friendly self," he looked quizzically at her. "I overheard him arranging to meet up with her to watch a DVD."

Flack looked frustrated. "He's trying to make up to her. I love the guy, but sometimes he simply doesn't get the wider picture."

"Maybe have a word with him?"

"Yeah. I'll see if he wants to go for a drink tomorrow."

All the time they spoke she felt his leg brushing hers, the constant physical contact continuing the electricity that had begun before, letting it circuit around their veins, their eyes providing that final point of connection.

-&-

Later, much later, they left the restaurant and walked back to her apartment, the night warm and humid. Flack unlocked the door, and both braced themselves for the devastation they had seen the night before, but all was as it should be.

"Thank you," he said, as she stood at the door to the bedroom, his turn to sleep on the sofa.

"What for?" she said, knowing damn well.

"A good evening."

They stood, the bright light of the street lamp entering through the window, lighting up their faces. For a long moment she wondered whether there should be a need for the duvet on the sofa, and figured that Flack was thinking the same thing too. But there was time and no need to rush, and the longer the sauce marinated, the better it would taste.

Angell buried herself down under the sheets, the familiar but new scent of Flack on her sheets evoking images and pictures in her mind as she drifted off to sleep.

Flack sat on the sofa, reviewing the night's events, the memory of her stood there in her bathrobe, mouth teasing, eyes seducing. He knew there was no reason why he wasn't in her bed tonight, except that the timing wasn't all there yet. It was a game, but not his. One only they could play.

-&-

A light was turned off across the street from Angell's apartment and a man sat back away from the window. They hadn't reckoned for this. But too long had been spent in executing these plans, too many years had been lost to spare one for the sake of another. The time was now right, because unlike the Italian they had been to tonight, he preferred to serve his dishes cold, and that recipe took time to perfect.

_Please review - especially if you have been lurking, come and say hi, and let me know what you think!_


	5. Chapter 5 Hunting

_These chapters are becoming longer and longer! I must warn in advance that this chapter refers to graphic violence (there's no violence - well, no graphic violence in it, but a case is being investigated where horrific things have happened.) However, it isn't any more graphic than what you would see on the actual programme._

_Thank you to all those people who have reviewed! It's great when you know people like what you're writing!_

_Usual disclaimer applies._

Chapter Five – Hunting

The drive to Flack's parents took almost two hours once Angell had managed to navigate her way out of the city. Even after over eighteen months of living there, she still hadn't gotten used to the traffic in certain areas, and unfortunately it was those certain areas that she had to drive through today.

Both she and Flack had been up early, even though it had been the early hours of the morning when they had returned from the restaurant. They both had rest days owing, but different reasons for not yet taking them. Flack, because he had no idea what to do with himself without his own apartment; and Angell as she was determined to get to the bottom of the bomb.

They had grabbed a quick breakfast together on the way to the precinct, bagels and coffee, an act that seemed very natural, almost too natural in fact. Up until now, she had taken this _thing_ between her and Flack as being a game, but the truth of it was, if she admitted it to herself, that there was now more at steak.

Angell pushed all non-work thoughts of Flack out of her mind as she pulled up outside Flack's parents' house. It was set back off the road, with a long drive, the front lawn left open, without fences. This part of the state was too quiet to need more privacy. The garden was well manicured with flowers blooming down wither sides of the driveway. The house in front of her looked tidy and welcoming and she wondered why Flack never said much about it.

The porch door opened and a tall woman stood there, her brown hair long with strands of grey weaved through it. She was wearing blue jeans and a simple white t-shirt, blue beads around her neck. Angell noticed her eyes and understood exactly where Flack had gotten his from.

"Detective Angell, I'm June Flack," she said, putting out a hand. Angell shook it, remembering Flack once telling her that his mother had been in the NYPD until having his elder sister.

"It's nice to meet you," Angell said, stepping into the house.

"We were wondering what all of this was about?" June said, and then Angell underwent a sinking feeling as she realised that Flack had not told his parents what had happened.

"You haven't spoken to your son in the past day or two?" she said, trying to not let any concern ring in her voice.

June shook her head. "I take it he is alright?"

Angell nodded. "He's fine – just as he normally is."

"But something has happened otherwise youwouldn't be asking whether we had heard from him. My husband's just outside in the rear garden. Let me fetch him and you can tell us both – no point repeating yourself. Take a seat."

Angell sat down on the leather sofa and mentally cursed Flack. This was now going to be twice as hard, telling them about Flack's apartment being destroyed, and prying into his father's cases. She heard footsteps and the legendary detective came through the door. She had seen photographs of him, but they were from a while ago. Now he was older, past sixty. His hair was almost all grey and he had accumulated weight, yet his son still resembled him in the way he carried himself and the look contained in his eyes. She felt at ease, and the apprehension she had felt on the way here disappeared.

"So what's my errant son been up to?" Flack Senior said after introductions, sitting down opposite her?

"His apartment was vandalised. When crime scene got there they discovered a bomb hidden in a drawer. A controlled explosion took place, but the apartment has been severely damaged. We're investigated the crime, and at the moment have few clear leads as to who the perp could be," she said, watching their reactions.

Flack Sr nodded. "Don's okay though?"

"He's irritated by what's happened, but as soon as we got there and saw what had happened we secured the scene and waited for forensics. A few of his suits aren't wearable anymore," she said.

"So you were with him when the damaged was discovered?" he asked.

Angell tried to remember it was meant to be her asking the questions. "I was," she watched his expressions, trying to read them. Why hadn't Flack informed his parents?

"Where's he staying at present?" June asked. "In a hotel or at Danny's?"

"He's staying with me. I don't live that far from the precinct and we have the same shift patterns at the moment…" she felt a little ashamed for some reason, wishing that she could appear less personally involved with the case.

"It's nice to know he's not stuck in a hotel, and if he were with Danny, then I'm sure that they'd be drinking and playing pool all the time," June said. "How can we help with this – that's what you're here for isn't it?"

"We've looked through Flack's cases," she began, finding it strange to be calling him Flack when his parents referred to him as Don. "There's no obvious tie with any felons he's convicted in the past, so we're widening out the investigation. We need to look into the theory that it may have been someone you sent down." She directed her look at Flack Sr, who was now tapping quickly on the arm of the chair.

"Have you looked into people who may have grievances with the department in general?" he said, almost dismissively, his change in tone obvious.

"Yes, sir. There's no one who is known for using explosives in that way who would have reason to target Flack," she said, quickly realising that a line had been drawn by the former detective.

"I don't think I can help you," he said after a brief silence. "I retired more than ten years ago - it's highly unlikely to have anything to do with my son."

Angell could tell she had unnerved him. His manner had become defensive and his face was blank of expression. She remembered Flack saying he hadn't heard from his father for a few weeks, although Flack himself had tried to make contact several times.

"I can't dismiss it that easily," she said. It didn't matter anymore that Flack senior was so highly regarded, it didn't matter that she had heard about him before she had even transferred to the NYPD. From what she could deduce – and it was something she was good at – he was hiding information that was pertinent to a case. A case that involved his son's welfare. "There's a high possibility that whoever did this will attempt to harm Flack again. It could well be linked to a case you investigated many years ago. I would really appreciate it if you could try to recall any incidences where explosives were used, or anyone who made threats against your family."

"Otherwise you'll trail through every one of my cases until something looks familiar?" it was an accusation more than a question.

"Yes, sir. And both you and I know that that will be a waste of my time."

"I'll have a think, Detective Angell, but nothing springs to mind immediately. Leave me your card and I will call you later today." He stood up, Angell followed his movement, she was being dismissed.

Outside the sun blazed in the sky. The day was going to be hot, more than hot. She reached her car and hunted in her pockets for the keys, finding them absent. Walking back down the drive she felt like an incompetent fool, and dreaded having to knock on the door. It had not gone well.

Reaching the porch, she saw the keys on the floor – she must have dropped them on the way in possibly. She bent down and heard words drifting out of the open window. Staying hidden she listened, every detective instinct on edge.

"You should have told her, Donald," she heard June say, her tone sharp. "If he's attacked again it's down to you. And if he's staying with the girl then she could end up in trouble too. Can you live with that?"

Something smashed on the wooden floor.

"I can't say anything, can I? God knows how he got out early, or if he even is out. And even if I tell her about it, she'll never link it back to him. He'll know I've spoken and things will get worse." There was a pause. "This goes back nearly thirty years, June. Don was four."

"But you knew then he meant the threat."

"I thought he would have forgotten about it by now. That's why it was never worth saying anything. And there's more at stake than that."

"Clearly he hasn't forgotten. He's just had twenty nine years to think about it."

Angell heard footsteps a someone left the room and everything fell silent. Quietly, she walked back down the drive and got in the car, turning the music off and mulling through the words she hadn't been meant to hear.

-&-

Flack bent down and whispered in the man's ear, just loud enough for the tape to catch it. The man turned round violently and pushed his chair to the ground.

"Now, now, Mr Etchells, tantrums aren't going to do you any good," Flack said, dodging a fist that came his way. He felt good. The frustration he'd been suffering from was being relieved after finally apprehending the piece of shit they suspected of having raped four women on four separate incidents, the first having committed suicide shortly after, the last was still in intensive care after suffering a horrific attack that had almost left her dead.

"It wasn't me!" Etchells yelled.

"Really? Because that's not what DNA has to say, and most juries would prefer to listen to DNA rather than some jumped up little shit like you who can't even do his trousers up properly," Flack looked down to where Etchells' flies were undone. They had caught him in a raid by vice; he had been with a prostitute at the time. Luckily, one of the detectives involved in the bust had recognised his face from the drawing done by one of his victims.

"I have never raped anyone, Detective, you have to believe me!"

"Why should I believe you? Your DNA matches what was found on your victims. Your face fits the drawing one of your victims managed to do from their hospital bed, and I'm pretty sure that when we raid your house we'll find the trophies you took from them. So why should I believe some little twerp with mother issues who thinks because he wears a suit and works for a law firm he can get away with what could be murder?" Flack stood up and leant against the wall of the interview room, watching Etchells as he began to cry.

"I haven't done anything! It wasn't me! I swear it wasn't me!" he said, banging table with his fist.

Flack remained silent, watching him with his arms folded. A bit more pressure and he would crack, Flack knew. All of this was a show; the tears, the tantrums. It wasn't remorse, but fear. How could he get out of this? How could he ensure his freedom and continue what he believed was his job, continuing to rid the streets of women?

"We've have the evidence, Mr Etchells. We didn't have you until now, but you're our final part of the puzzle. Fired from your job for bullying behaviour, allegations of inappropriate behaviour made against you from several of your female colleagues and your semen left on two of the victims. Completely random victims, so you don't know about the husbands and family they left behind. But then again, you don't care about that do you?" Flack stepped toward him. "You just care about what you can do to them. How you can violate them, mutilate them, make sure that if they do live afterwards, they never want to show their faces in public again."

Etchells turned around, the mask of sadness taken off and behind it was an expression of pure hatred. "This wasn't me. You have the wrong person. Maybe I slept with those whores but I didn't kill them. I'm no murdered, Mr Flack, I just like, you know, a bit of fun. Just like you do, with your pretty cop girlfriend."

Flack felt goose bumps on his arms and rage inside his veins. Etchells had obviously seen him and Jess together at some point, but when. He tried to use the adrenaline to keep him going, to focus on his questions, because what Etchells had just said meant something. Jess had been the investigating officer in the deaths of two of the women. It was known that perps often liked to hang around and see what came of their kills, what problems they had created. For some, the aftermath was what got them off. Flack had been first on the scene of the third murder, Jess turning up twenty minutes later when the similarities had been noticed. They had stood together and talked for five minutes, going over the two previous cases. That was when Etchells had seen them together. Unless, and Flack did not want to contemplate it at present, he had been following them elsewhere.

"So you like to hang around afterwards, do you? Watch the police clear up your mess? The attack on Tracy Newlove when you paralysed her by severing her spinal cord in two places, you were there when we got there? Did you like seeing the woman's face when she saw what you had done to Tracy? Is that what turns you on?" Flack said, watching Etchells laugh.

"She's called Jessica, isn't she? Jess-i-ca," Etchells almost tasted the syllables as he said them. "She would probably fight an attacker off, wouldn't she? Or try to. And just think, Detective Flack, while you've got me in here, the real killer is still out there, following little Jessie as she goes about her business, unaware that her boyfriend's making a big mistake." He licked his lips. "Hopefully he'll send me pictures so I can see what he did."

Flack grabbed hold of Etchells' shoulders and pushed him further into the chair. "We have evidence," he said quietly. "We know it was you, and in thirty, sixty minutes time, I will get a phone call from your house telling me where your collection of their hair is. And that will be enough, Mr Etchells." He let go, pushing him forward with force as he did so and left the room. Etchells' solicitor was watching through the window, and ignored Flack as he came out. Sometimes some lawyers had a sense of decency and just did their job, rather than being assholes about it.

Once out of earshot of the lawyer he dialled Mulligan who had gone to search Etchell's apartment along with Danny and Hawkes.

"We got the hair," he heard Mulligan say, and Flack breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Serial rapists did not collaborate, so he had seriously doubted Etchells' story, but it had still unnerved him. Even more than it would have done usually, and he knew exactly why. "We've also got another body."

"Another woman?" Flack said.

"Yeah. Female, mid to late twenties. Pregnant – obviously so."

"Sick son of a bitch."

"There's more, but we'll fill you in when we get back. Where's Angell? She'll want in on this," Mulligan said.

"I'll call her. I think she's on her way back from my father's," Flack said, images in his mind switching from his burnt out apartment to Jess standing in her bathrobe.

"She gone to ask him for your hand in marriage?" Mulligan said.

Flack grinned wryly. Only cops could find a sense of humour after seeing murder scenes. It was how they got through it. "More likely he'll be asking for hers," he said, knowing his father. "I need to speak with her before she goes in to interview Etchells. He knows a little more about her than I'm comfortable with."

"She's a big girl, Flack. She can take care of herself. He has stuff in his bedroom about her too. Knowing Angell she'll find it funny. "

Maybe she would, Flack thought. But he didn't. "I'll fill you in when you get here."

He hung up and headed for the coffee machine. Something wasn't sitting right with him. He knew it was probably paranoia, something he rarely suffered from, and that what had happened at his apartment had probably gotten to him.

He looked out into the station and saw Andy Halmann stood by talking to one of the old timers. Andy had worked with his dad back in the day and was now retired too. If Jess hadn't gotten any info out of Flack Sr, then Andy would be a good bet.

Andy looked up and saw Flack. Flack waved, he'd known Andy since he was a small kid. Andy didn't wave back. He looked at him for a second too long and there was something in his eyes that Flack didn't like, he didn't like at all.

_Please review! Let me know what you like, what you think needs to be included etc!_


	6. Chapter 6 Humidity

_Thank you to all of those who have reviewed! It definitely makes me write quicker. I'm not entirely happy with this chapter as Falck would just not do as he's told. On the programme we se him being tough and straight talking, and I imagine that's what he's be like in a relationship/friendship too (as with Danny). But I can't help think that he'd feel protective of Angell, and this would annoy him, as part of the reason he likes her is because she's independant and can handle herself. Hence I think he'd have had conflicting emotions which he wouldn't have been used to. My excuse if he seems OOC._

_I am in the middle (well middle of the start) of writing my second crime novel. The first - unpublished - is too descriptive to be considered for publication as a crime novel, so I guess this fic is a way of practising getting the balance right. Please let me know if I get too wordy, or go too far the other way. As I'm getting these chapters up so quick, I'm not editing them fantastically, so I apologise for typos etc._

_Usual disclaimer applies._

_Enjoy._

Chapter Six – Humidity

Angell saw Stella on her way into the station. The CSI looked harassed and somewhat preoccupied, nodding at her briefly as she rushed passed. Angell wondered what was going on – clearly something for Stella not to exchange at least a sentence. She pulled her cell from her pocket and saw that it had switched itself off, again. Turning it on, she found she had three messages from Flack, a note of panic in his voice, telling her to call him.

She didn't bother to return his calls, finding him sat with Mulligan next to her desk.

"Why the fuck haven't you been answering your cell?" he said, standing as she approached.

"It switched itself off while I was driving," she said, not letting his tone irritate her. She disliked possessive men, and hadn't put Flack down as one. He had no call on her, and she couldn't understand his demanding tone, although if Mulliagn hadn't have been there, she would have certainly softened the situation by teasing him about his worries. "What's going on?"

"We've got Gemma Hazeldine's rapist," Flack said. "Vice picked him up when they raided a strip joint early this morning."

"Has he been interviewed?" she said. This was news. She had worked the first three cases alongside another detective, and although DNA had been present at the scene, there had been nothing to compare it to on any of their databases.

"I got him earlier," Flack said. "He's in custody with his brief. Mulligan and his men did a search of his apartment and found the hair." All of his victims had had part of their head shaved and the hair taken away from the crime scene. "And some pictures of you. He mentioned you when I interviewed him."

She noticed Mulligan slip away back to his desk. "How did he link me with the cases?"

"He saw you and me at the third crime scene."

"Why's this freaked you, Flack? This happens sometimes; perps get a fixation with the cops investigating their cases. Are you sure he wasn't just trying to rattle you into hitting him?" The revelation didn't bother her.

"He said he wasn't the main person involved in the rapes. That there was someone else – a partner," Flack said, seriousness deep within his tone. "I know the statistics, Jess, rapists and murderers do not usually work in pairs, but it isn't impossible. And we're going to have to investigate it; otherwise it will end up being brought up in court when we prosecute as an attempted get out clause."

Angell nodded. "No one's followed me, or given me anything to be suspicious about," she said, seeing Flack's concern. "You're thinking about your apartment?"

Flack nodded. "It could have been the perp – Etchells. He referred to you as my girlfriend. If he has followed us once or twice then he may well have jumped to conclusions."

"But he's never seen me go back to your place. The night of the explosion was the first time," she said. She doubted Flack's theory, especially after overhearing his parents earlier.

"Have you had lunch?" he said.

She shook her head. "I've just got back from Jersey. I assume you're hungry."

He didn't smile. "You need to get a new phone," he said.

"I know." Angell hung her jacket over the back of her chair and followed Flack out of the building. "I'm a big girl," she said, catching him up as he paced quickly to the nearby café. "I had four older brothers who made sure I could handle myself." His expression stayed the same. He looked almost as if he was at war with himself, trying in vain to fight back thoughts he didn't want.

He sat down at a table that had just been vacated by a pair of builders, not speaking. She hadn't known this side of him, he generally had more than a lot to say, but now he was brooding, probably not knowing how to phrase what it was that he wanted to come out with.

"Spit it out," she said. "Amnesty. I won't freak at what you want to say but I will freak if you carry on giving me this silent treatment."

He looked up, a waitress making her way over and then retreating, clearly practiced at reading situations. "I know you can handle yourself and I don't want you to feel that I'm being protective over you. Etchells got under my skin when he mentioned you, then Mulligan found pictures of you at his apartment. And then you weren't answering your cell. I put two and two together and made ten."

"This is why it won't work," she said, regretting the words as soon as they emerged. "It will interfere with what we do."

"I know. But it doesn't switch off like that, does it?"

She shook her head. There was the conversation she had overheard to tell him about, the one that overruled his concern for her and turned it around. But she knew he was tough, and she also had belief that they would get whoever had ruined Flack's home before they did anything else. If she didn't have that, then her career was worthless.

"What would help?" she said. "What would stop you from being concerned?"

He sat back in the plastic chair, looking at her. "Keep your cell phone on – when you weren't answering I panicked that something had happened. It is this case, and the apartment. I'm sorry, Jess. I know you can look after yourself. You're better at it than me."

She reached over to where his fist was clenched, resting on the table and brushed her fingers against his. "I don't want to switch anything off," she said as his fingers interlocked with hers. "We just need to deal with it. To be fair, Flack, you're dealing with this pretty well. If it had been my apartment, I doubt I would be back working the day after."

He shook his head. "You'd get on with it the same, Jess. I'm yet to see you bugged about anything," he said. The waitress returned and took their order, their fingers remaining touching. There wasn't the great current between them that there had been the previous night; instead there was a gentle comfort, the same one that had been there when they had gone for drinks after shifts and talked through their issues and concerns, the same one that had helped her keep perspective and granted her a little strength.

"How did it go with dad?" Flack said, once the silence settled.

"I learnt more when I left. He clammed up when I asked him about old cases," she said, moving her hand to pick up her iced coffee. "I'd dropped my car keys and walked back to their house. When I got there I overheard something about a threat made when you were four, and someone having had twenty nine years to think about it."

"An old colleague of my dad's, Andy Halmann came in the station today. I didn't like his reaction when he saw me. I've known him since I was four and even dated his daughter when we were both seventeen. He seemed displeased to see me. It might be worth looking into some of his and dad's old cases," Flack said.

"I'll start there," Angell said. "At the moment it's the only lead we have. Your dad said he'd call me if he thought of anything."

Flack shook his head. "He'll call you to say that nothing comes to mind. And that will be because another officer will somewhere be implicated. Dad was a great cop, don't get me wrong, but he was old school."

Angell nodded. Andy Hallman was worth getting hold of.

-£-

Flack sat down on the wall at the edge of the basketball court, waiting for Danny to turn up after his shift. He toyed with his cell phone, rereading the message he'd had from Angell. _Had interesting afternoon. Going shopping. See you at home x._ He'd stopped worrying, knowing that she could look after herself, better than most men he knew. He had wondered if his strange sense of overprotection had something to do with frustration, and a need to mark his territory in someway. Sometimes he worried if he had inherited more than his father's cheekbones.

"Hey Flack!" he heard Danny call. "You ready to lose?"

"You know lose isn't in my vocabulary, Messer," he said, wrapping his cell in a sweater and tucking it in a large crack in the wall. The courts were generally quiet, unused except later in the evenings when they became a hang-out for troubled teenagers. Sometimes, he and Danny would stop by later on and shoot hoops with them, trying to point them in any direction away from the jail, but since Ruben's death, Danny had been too busy with Rikki. This had been their first game since then and the first proper time they had hung out. "How's Rikki?" he said.

Danny shrugged, bouncing the ball then passing it, warming up. "I guess it's over," he said. "We've seen each other a couple of times, but she's gone distant."

"You okay with that?" Flack said, the ball being passed rapidly between them.

"Yeah. I think she's planning on moving back home to her parents. I suppose there's nothing much left for her here," Danny said. "How's things with you? You're still welcome to stay at mine. I hear Angell's only got one bed though."

Flack grinned, beginning to move round with the ball. Shortly, their conversation would cease and their concentration would be focused solely on beating each other. "We take turns on the couch," he said.

Danny nodded. "And how long's that going to last?"

"I don't know, as long as the lady wants it to," he said, bravado concealing half the truth.

"She's a good one, Flack, not like those others you've dated," Danny stole the ball from him and took a shot, the ball falling neatly through the hoop. "Socialites might be pretty to look at, but having something in common to talk about after I find helps."

Flack laughed. "We get along well," he said, not wanting to give too much away. Danny's heart was worn on his sleeve, and as much as that suited Danny, Flack wasn't wanting to follow his trend.

"But nothing's cooking between you?" Danny said, losing the ball back to Flack.

"It's on slow burn." And the flames were pretty damn hot.

-&-

New York appeared to be suffering a small heat wave, one that was hopefully about to break. Everything outside was hot to the touch, and as the air conditioning had gone down in the lab, the same could be said of inside too. Danny and Flack passed Adam who was only too delighted to inform them that he was sweating profusely, and that Kendall had stripped down to 'almost nothing' beneath her lab coat.

"Joining us for a beer, Adam?" Flack offered, as Adam began to go into even more detail about what had caused Kendall to lose certain garments.

Adam shook his head. "Still got stuff here to do. We're processing practically everything from Etchells' apartment, looking for trace of any other males. I doubt I'll have seen daylight at all today by the time I'm set free."

They looked to the stairs, Kendall stood there calling Adam to come back. Adam shrugged. "Her ladyship calls."

Flack caught Danny's eye as Adam walked back up the steps, bombarding Kendall with questions and both laughed once he was out of earshot.

"Poor Adam," Danny said. "So you up for a beer and a bite to eat?"

Flack nodded. "Sounds good." He took his cell out his pocket. _Eating with Danny. See you later x_. He sent it to Angell, noticing Danny's curious reaction as he put the phone away. They made their way to nearby bar where several cops hung out after work. The place was already crowded, several people having spilled outside, enjoying the heat.

"So, you starting apartment hunting, or are you waiting for your old place to be fixed up?" Danny said, taking a long drink from his bottle.

"I'm going to look for somewhere new. I was going to buy when my lease ran out, so now seems as good a time as any," Flack said, eyeing the menu.

"Any leads on who did it?"

"Some," Flack nodded. "Jess is looking back into my father's cases. It seems there may have been a threat made years ago that's now being carried out."

"So you're dad's helping out with this? I haven't seen him around the station."

Flack shook his head. "Dad doesn't want anything to do with this, which tells me something is really up. Jess went out to Jersey this morning to speak with him, and the best information she got was what she overheard."

Danny nodded looking at his feet, shifting them slightly. "Your dad's old mate, Andy Halmann dropped in the lab this morning and was asking how we were doing processing the bits from the explosive. Mac did his usual tell 'em nothing but make it sound a lot, but he left looking rather pissed. I didn't think much of it until now."

"I saw Halmann too. Usually he'll want to pass the time of day with me, try and fix me back up with his daughter again, but he just gave me this strange look. I've told Jess about it and I imagine she's tried to catch up with him this afternoon," he checked his cell to see if Jess had replied. Nothing.

"Look – I know you can't get actively involved in the case, but I can. I'll ask Mac if I can switch and let Hawkes take over on the Etchells case," Danny said, seeming more like his old self than he had done since Ruben had died.

"Cheers," Flack said. "Now what we going to eat?"

-£-

It was late and dark by the time Flack got back to Angell's apartment. He and Danny had stayed for a while, discussing things that they hadn't been able to for the past few weeks, given Danny's state of mind. It never failed to surprise Flack how quickly Danny could bounce back, although he was clearly still grieving over Ruben, only now it was a healthy grieving, rather than the obsessively self-blaming routine of before.

Flack had also talked a little about Jess, something he never normally did. He was very much his father's son, and feelings were not usually discussed, especially when about a girl. But this was Danny, and Flack knew he wouldn't mock or laugh, he would just end some of his worries with his sense of perspective that he seemed unable sometimes, to apply to himself.

Flack unlocked the door, expecting the lights to be on and Jess to be sat there. Instead the apartment was quiet and in darkness, the open blinds letting in the fluorescent lights from outside.

He wanted to panic. The shops had closed for the day a couple of hours ago. He sat down and flicked on the TV, briefly checking his phone as the first roll of thunder peeled through the city. No messages. It had probably switched itself off and she hadn't realised. He imagined she had gone for something to eat herself. Flack attempted to focus on the badly written crime drama, remembering what he had said to her earlier and tried to ignore the sense of dread that was taking hold of his stomach as another burst of thunder hammered around New York.

_Please review! Especially if you add me too your alerts or favourites, tell me why. I'm really pleased people are reading this and enjoying it and I love to get feedback too! Next chapter up tomorrow._


	7. Chapter 7 Thunder

_Thank you to those people who have reviewed so far in this story!_

_Big thanks to Sonnet Lacewing for beta-ing and correcting my Britishicisms. I have left the English spelling because the US version looks WRONG!! (and it makes my spell check freak.)_

_This is my favourite chapter so far. Please enjoy._

_Usual disclaimer applies_

Chapter Seven – Thunder

The day had grown hotter with each minute, and the last thing Angell felt like doing that afternoon was sitting inside an increasingly furnace-like room with men who had forgotten to use deodorant that morning. As much as she loved her job, there were certain – small - things that ticked her off.

Andy Halmann was a name she had heard of several times before, but to her recollection she had never met him. Her computer told her he lived seven blocks from the station, a walk that seemed much better than enduring air conditioning that sounded like it was going to break down any time soon.

According to Flack, Halmann lived alone, having been divorced from his wife for at least ten years. His only daughter lived in the same block of apartments as Lindsay, and since retiring, he had followed the single cop tradition of spending much of his time in bars and with hookers.

Halmann had been a good detective with only one blot on his record. His brother, Thomas, had been sent down for money laundering, and Halmann had done his damnedest to falsify evidence to get him off. It was an offence that should have seen him fired, but the cop community had been tighter back then, and he was let off with a slap on the hand and a warning not to do it again. Thomas Halmann had also been accused of three other crimes, including the murder of a woman, Maria Lawson, but there had never been enough evidence to prosecute. Thomas was halfway through his eight-year-sentence when he became involved in a prison brawl and died after suffering several blows to the head. After that, Andy Halmann had begun to drink more, ultimately blaming himself.

His apartment block was tired and run down. Angell saw a tramp in the doorway two doors down and braced herself for the worse when she rang the buzzer to Halmann's apartment.

"Hello?" the deep voice said.

"Detective Angell, NYPD, can I come up?" She was met by the entry tone, and she pushed the door open into a small, but clean area in front of the elevators.

Andy Halmann was well over six feet tall and about three feet wide. His head was balding and his eyes looked slightly jaundiced. Angell smelled fresh whisky on his breath as he opened the door to his apartment.

The apartment surprised her; it was immaculately tidy and clean, sparsely decorated with ornaments, the furniture looking new and modern. She kept her expression blank as she sat down, Halmann turning off the television which had been showing horse racing from England.

"And to what to I owe a visit from the NYPD, Detective Angell?" he said.

"I need to ask you some questions about cases several years ago. It's in relation to the attempted bombing of Detective Flack's apartment," she said, not sensing any animosity as of yet.

"You're Davy Angell's little girl aren't you?" Halmann said. "I saw you twice – you won't remember. Once you were in diapers and you were brought here with those brothers of yours as your pa was working a case up here. The second time you were about four and caused havoc in the precinct. Your mom had gone back home with the boys and your pa came here in an emergency, and had to bring you. You spent three days running round like a whirlwind. Which I believe is pretty much the same as what you do now." He smiled, and she couldn't help but return it, vaguely remembering the second incident. "So what do you need to know?"

"Any cases where a threat may have been made to Donald Flack's family," she said, not wanting to give too much away.

"Why aren't you asking the man himself this?"

"I've tried. He seems unable to remember any."

Halmann nodded. "Flack senior was one of my best mates on the force. He stopped me from being booted out after trying to help my brother. He was also a damn good cop. If he can't remember any threats then either there were none, or he's got a fine reason for not telling you."

"If the bombers intention was to hurt his son, they didn't succeed. There's a strong chance that they will try again," Angell said.

Halmann shrugged. "Give me a time range."

"Twenty nine years ago. 1979."

"And you've looked through those cases?" Halmann said. Angell was now convinced he knew or suspected something. He was just reluctant to tell.

"Yes, sir. Nothing stands out. I suspect that not everything was recorded," she was lying. Pulling out all of Flack Sr's cases from that year would take her the best part of a fortnight. If Halmann could narrow it down, they might be able to catch the perp or perps before they did any more damage.

"There wasn't as much paper work in my day," Halmann said. "Pushing pens was one reason the force lost a lot of good cops." He sat back, taking a finger of whisky from the table beside him and sipping at it. "There were three cases that year that caused Donald a lot of grief. Kevin Marshall, Dwain Bombala and Charlie Booth. The rest of his convictions were nothing compared to those three. All were controversial, and all made us worry about potential repercussions. They had contacts on the outside who made it difficult for witnesses and detectives to stand as witnesses." He refilled his glass. "Whether anything personal happened for Donald I don't know. But you have a start."

"You agree that we're looking in the right direction?" she said, not actually bothered about his opinion, but wanting Halmann's reaction.

"That's not my problem is it, Detective Angell? I'm not a member of the NYPD anymore." There was something in his tone which caused her ears to prick. Whatever he had just told her hadn't been the whole truth, but what she had remembered was that in 1979 she had been in diapers and there had been someone around then who would never lie to her.

"Say hi to your dad for me," Halmann said as she left. Angell nodded, that was something she was definitely going to do.

-&-

Halmann watched the girl disappear down the street, the disposable cell phone at his ear. She didn't look back; hopefully she was too excited about the half story he had just fed her. "I've just had a visit from Flack's little girlfriend," he said, when his caller picked up. "She's investigating cases from 1979. So somewhere along the line there is a leak." He listened to the voice at the other end of the line. "What do I think? I think he needs a scare. A gentle reminder that we know he still remembers." Halmann hung up, putting the cell phone down and picking up his whisky glass. It would be an interesting few days.

-&-

Angell walked quickly back to the precinct, toying over what she had found out. Halmann had had her convinced almost, until he'd passed the buck completely over to her. She was definitely discounting the cases he'd mentioned – yes, she would get the files from archives, but she doubted that any of them would be of any relevance.

Back at her desk she dialled her father, knowing that he was likely to be at his desk, suffering under a rainforest of paper. He was one of the old school; but had adapted, and more than thirty years in the force later was still enjoying the job and had so far managed to stay in rather than retire, which is what her mother was hoping for.

"Dad," Angell said when he picked up.

"You don't call, you don't phone? I assume you're in need of last month's rent?" it was their standing joke that whilst she was at college she had attempted to spend his – and some of her brothers' – money like water.

"Actually, I'm in need of your memory," she said.

"Okay," he paused. "This is to do with a case, so I'm going to close my door." She heard him place the receiver on a hard surface and footsteps walking across the floor. "I'm back."

"I never knew that you and mom took us to New York in 1979," she began with. "I will thank you now."

"What's biting?"

"Someone attempted to blow up Donald Flack's son' apartment two night's ago. Cutting a long story very short, we think it's got something to do with one of Flack Senior's cases from that year. Someone who threatened revenge," she said, knowing that her father would not ask too many questions if he could help it.

"What've you got so far?"

"I went to see Andy Halman…"

"That piece of work. He should have been strung up for what he got up to, and it was your colleague's father that got him off the hook. Why, I don't know, because Donald Flack had never had much to do with him before."

"That's interesting, because the way Halmann tells it they were bosom buddies," she wrapped the telephone cord around her arm, still unable to keep still for very long when she was sitting down.

"They were after that. I was down there that summer for about three months, around the time Halmann's brother was sent down. It was nothing to do with me; I was investigating a serial murderer that had crossed states but the atmosphere in the precinct made me wish I was back on traffic, and it was because of Halmann. But nothing was ever said to Donald Flack about it, and if you mentioned it, he'd clam up."

Angell tapped on her desk, thinking. "How dodgy is Halmann?"

"I wouldn't let him take you or the boys to the park. He was good with you, brought you sweets and kept an eye on you when you were about the precinct, but I didn't know what he'd smuggle inside your diaper. And that goes no further, Jessica."

"Point taken. Any cases he worked on with Flack Senior around that time?" Her mind was crunching possibilities and probabilities.

"Yeah. One closed as I got there. They put away a man for murdering five male prostitutes. The same bloke was a known dealer and importer and completely unhinged. He was only done for the murders because Halmann botched something up and got a lesser sentence than he should have. The case was warped, and the whole trial took about five months from start to finish. It was obvious that the jury were being tempered with. In the end we were surprised that he was convicted."

"Did you suspect Halmann could have had something to do with things going wrong?"

"I suppose. But then the proverbial hit the fan with my own case and I didn't think too much about it. You'll need to know the name of the guy – it was Matthew Harper. As far as I know he's still inside. If you go visit him, make yourself look ugly," Angell laughed at her father's words.

"How would Flack Senior react if someone threatened his family?" she asked.

"Like I would. He was the cop I worked with on my murder case. I got to know him well on a professional level while I was there. In fact, after your mom took you and the boys back home because school was starting again, I stayed with the Flacks. If he had been threatened, he gave nothing away. If you think that's what happened, Jessie, I trust your instinct. But the people at the other end of it must have had something big on him else he would have reported it in," she heard her father take a drink. "Any way, only daughter, your mother appears to want to visit you in the hope of spending what money you've left me with."

Angell laughed. Her mother loved New York which would have been why she came over whenever she could be spared from her own job in an art gallery.

"I'm hoping you'll tell her that you're too busy, which sounds like it wouldn't be a lie," he added. "But she keeps mentioning that sofa bed you bought."

Angell cringed. She hadn't wanted to have this conversation. Not yet. "I actually have no room for her to stay at the moment, dad."

"Why's that, hon? You didn't mention it at the weekend."

"I didn't have someone staying with me at the weekend," she said, bracing herself.

"So, putting five and four together and making nine, Flack junior's apartment's been wrecked and he's staying with you. You seeing each other?" his tone was sharp, but there was a hint of amusement in it.

"Not yet, it's kind of complicated. You're not going to come round and threaten him are you?" she said with a laugh.

"Now, Jessica. I haven't done that since you were in tenth grade," his tone was amused. "If he's anything like his father he'll be a good guy, and rumour has it that he'll be a better cop than his father was, and that's saying something. Besides, I would like to have grandchildren one day."

"You already have grandchildren. Seven of them at last count," she said. The days of him being overprotective had long since gone, ever since she had punched Steven Saunders on the nose when she had found out he'd been seeing Carrie Pennington behind her back.

"Speaking of which, you won't have spoken to Niall for a bit so you won't know that Renee's expecting again. Anyway, give me a call and let me know how things play out – I've got to go, Lee Rogers is lurking at my door which is never good. Bye, Jess," he said, shouting something to the poor man outside his door. She said her goodbyes hurriedly and hung up. Archives were calling.

The first box she requested was the one marked Harper 78/79. A thick layer of dust was sat on the lids of the seven boxes when David, the archive dungeon master, brought them to her.

"Yeah, have fun with those," he said, depositing them on the floor next to her desk. Four of the boxes were sub-labelled with the victims surname and date. She chose the earliest first. A picture of a teenaged boy greeted her. He was smiling, dressed in school uniform. The second picture showed his mutilated body. The next box contained similar photos. Angell sat there, cross-legged on the floor and travelling back to events that occurred before her birth.

Three hours later she stood up, images of pictures and repeated sentences flying across her eyes. Matthew Harper had been sentenced to thirty two years. He was still inside, having been transferred to Attica after a serious assault on another inmate and prison guard. Running her hand through her hair she began to file the boxes away in a secure closet. There would be more to read through tomorrow, plus numerous people she wanted to speak to, jurors, witnesses, victims' parents. Flack Senior had been the leading officer on the case, but all of the final reports had been written by Halmann. Something, somewhere, did not add up.

She left the building, the air conditioning had packed up mid afternoon and she felt hot and clammy. Storms were forecast, and they would be welcomed, hopefully easing the humid and claustrophobic atmosphere that New York was suffering under. She hailed a cab. Flack was eating with Danny so she felt no need to rush home. The conversation with her father had left her with a longing for some time with her parents, time which at the moment was not possible. So if her mom could not get to New York, then she would send a little of New York to her.

-£-

Flack looked up as a key was pushed into the lock. It was almost midnight and the bad cop dramas had been replaced with even worse ones. Jess appeared in the doorway, laden with bags, her hair drenched by the rain. He got up off the sofa and took the bags from her, noting her expression. An older sister had taught him that women came home from shopping looking guiltily pleased. Angell's face did not reflect those feelings.

"What's happened?" he said, as she sat down, grabbing a towel from a pile of clean washing and wrapping it round her hair.

"I've been followed. That's why I'm so late. I detoured and I think I lost them so they would find here," she looked tired and almost anxious.

"Did you call it in?"

She nodded. "I gave a description and headed back to the station. I can't swear to it. They were good."

"What do you mean?" Flack said impatiently.

"I kept on seeing the same man wherever I was. But, when I started to back track, and tried to pull him out into the open, he wasn't there. I don't think his intention was to hurt me," she said, looking through her bags.

Flack nodded. "Reconnaissance work."

"Definitely. I gave him plenty of chances to get me alone and he didn't take them. It could have just been coincidence," she said, pulling one particular bag onto her knee.

"Doubt it. Any potential ID's?"

"No. He's new. Here, this is for you," she passed him a small bag. He opened it and laughed. Three new ties, one with a cartoon angel design on it.

"Thank you," he said. "You have fun?"

"I've had a very interesting day."

He smiled. "I had an interesting evening."

"Danny okay?"

He nodded. "That's another story. Your dad called."

She laughed, completely unfazed. "Did he threaten you?"

"No. He asked something about inherited diseases, but I think he was joking."

The laughter continued, ringing round the house, competing with the heavy roll of thunder which occurred.

"He also told me that he was the one who took my pacifier away from me and threw it in the pond. Clearly your father psychologically damaged me at an early age," Flack said, feeling his own face light up at her laughter.

"Did he say anything embarrassing?" she said, although Flack wasn't certain if it was possible to embarrass her.

"He told me there was no use trying to protect you, as he and your four brothers had tried that. Oh, and something about punching a boy in tenth grade and breaking his nose?" Flack said, leaning further back onto the sofa.

"I didn't break it," she denied. "It was just very bruised."

Flack laughed, her eyes were twinkling and she had a mischievous look to her which he only usually saw when she was getting the better of him.

"Stand up," she demanded, walking over to the stereo and searching for a CD. He stood, gesturing 'what for' with his arms. "I'll show you what I did."

"I'd rather keep my features intact, thank you," he said indignantly.

"I won't hurt you." The music began to play. 'Crazy for You', Madonna. Not his favourite. She pulled the towel off her hair onto the chair.

Angell put her arms around his neck and pulled him close to her, meeting little resistance. "I knew he'd cheated on me before the school dance with the school bicycle," she began. Flack attempted to focus, his arms around her waste, the music not seeming quite so bad after all. "So," she continued. "I lulled him into a false sense of security," she looked up into his eyes, a few drops of rain from her hair dropping onto his vest. His face came closer to hers and he felt his heart beating faster, biting his lips because he knew she would be able to feel it. "And then…"

He felt his cell vibrate in his pocket and they stepped apart. It was a work call - Mac.

"Flack?" Mac said. "Are you with Detective Angell?"

"Yeah, she's with me," he said, his heart now beating for different reasons.

"You might want to bring her with you. I'm at the back of the restaurants on 51st. It looks like your rapist might have been telling the truth about a partner."

_Please review!_


	8. Chapter 8 Hotwired

_Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far, your comments are most appreciated._

_Also, I need to thank Sonnet Lacewing for beta-ing._

_Usual disclaimer applies!!_

_Enjoy._

Chapter Eight – Hotwired

June Flack was surprised when she opened the door to find a courier stood there. They certainly weren't expecting any packages, none that she was aware of anyhow. She signed for it, noticing that it was addressed to her husband, and took it into the dining room where he was sat; poring over the newspapers he had bought that afternoon. He had been impossible since the detective had left, beside himself with rage and indecisiveness.

"This has just arrived," she said, passing the box to him.

"It's late for a courier," he said, taking it. "Are you sure it was legitimate?"

"He was wearing a fed-ex uniform and nothing made me suspicious about him, otherwise I wouldn't have accepted. And we have had things delivered this late before," she said, clearly annoyed at his insinuation that she was incompetent in some way.

"Switch the large light on, please June," Donald Flack took the package to the table and unwrapped it carefully. He was aware that he should have called a police officer, given his suspicions about who it was from, but that would involve answering questions.

He pulled out a shoe box, too light to have shoes inside. As he pulled off the top June stepped back. The box was full of thick, dark brown, long curly hair.

-&-

Angell stood at the periphery of the scene, watching as Hawkes examined the body and Lindsay collected evidence. The victim had been left at the side of a dumpster, a cotton sheet covering her. She'd been discovered when the restaurant cleaner had come out to get rid of the rubbish. Thinking that a tramp was under the sheet, she'd moved it, wanting to wake him and offer some leftovers. Instead she'd met with a sight that had reduced her to hysterics. The woman's hair had been shaved off and her clothes left in a pile next to her body, exactly the same as the other four victims.

Hawkes stood up under the canopy they had erected to protect the evidence from being washed away by more rain, and shook his head. "I'd say she's been dead no more than four hours. There's no sign of rigour. I also think she's been washed clean. There's a smell of soap about her, carbolic soap if I'm not mistaken."

Mac nodded, his face the most serious Angell had ever seen it. "This isn't the crime scene," he said as Flack moved closer to the vic, crouching down. "She's been dumped here, and it wouldn't surprise me if he planned how the body would be discovered."

"There're two possibilities. One, this wasn't planned. It was opportunistic with a random victim. The previous girls have been stalked. This could be his response to having Etchells in custody. Or, this is what they planned to do should one of them be caught. She has some hair left on the back of her head, Mac."

Hawkes tipped the body and Lindsay took photos of hat was underneath. Long, dark brown, curly hair. Angell lifted a hand and unconsciously pushed her own out of the way.

"I'm not happy about this," Mac said, looking at Angell. "Something's not sitting right."

Hawkes came back from the van with a body bag and prepared to move her. Lindsay had begun to pick up each item of clothing, bagging and labelling it.

"Here's her wallet," she said, opening it with gloved hand. "Melissa Raymond, age 29."

"Same as me," Angell said. She peered at the photograph. The date and the hair were where the resemblances ended. Melissa's face was entirely different. She caught Flack's eye and he nodded, some fears alleviated.

"Mulligan's on his way. We'll start by interviewing the restaurant cleaner and workers. If it's anything like the other attacks, we'll have very little to go off," Flack said.

"But this is the first murder beside the one in Etchells' house," Mac said. "It is going to be different. Why kill Melissa?"

"He's quite possibly spiralling out of control, especially if Etchells' is his partner," Lindsay said, inspecting the shoes she was putting into the bag. "These shoes – they're the wrong size for her."

Mac crouched down. "She looks to be a size 8, and the shoes are a six."

"Chantal Williams is a six," Angell said. "Her shoes never turned up."

"Can you remember their description?" Mac said,

Angell nodded. "Black court shoes with a pointed toe. The ones you've got there could easily be them."

"We can analyse them back at the lab," Mac said.

She watched as the CSI's began to transport the evidence back to lab, Flack making his way over to her. The relaxed persona her had been showing in her apartment had gone, and the consummate professional was back. The vest had been replaced by a shirt and as he drew closer she noticed the tie he was wearing. It was the one she had bought more as a joke, the one with the tiny cartoon angels on. Her eyes met his briefly and the chemistry passed between them again.

"I think you should interview Etchells," he said. "He won't be expecting you after what he said before. You being there will upset him. We know he doesn't like women, especially attractive ones."

She raised her eyebrows at him. In a different situation, a lighter one, she would have teased him about his terrible flirting.

"You're not worried?" she said as Mac waved to them, getting in his car.

"No. I know you can look after yourself. If he annoys you, you'll break his nose," he raised his hand and discreetly touched the small of her back. "Just don't dance with him first."

Angell caught a lift back with Lindsay, Flack needing his own car to get around witnesses. Lindsay looked tired, and heavy eyed, a look that Angell knew came with doing to many night shifts and not being able to sleep during the day. She also looked preoccupied.

"How are things?" she asked. She didn't know Lindsay particularly well, having only worked a handful of cases together. Recently, she had been doing more of the lab work, a scientist at heart rather than an investigator.

"You know about Danny?" Lindsay said. "You must from Flack."

"It wouldn't just be from Flack, Lindsay, You know what cop shop talk is like," Angell said, reminding her that personal lives did not always stay personal when you were involved with colleagues.

"Yeah, I know," Lindsay said. "I guess I just feel a fool. I took it as being more than what it was."

Angell shook her head. "You took it as what you felt it was. We've all done that. I'm sure Danny did have those feelings for you, but whether they had the same longevity as yours is a different matter. You have to move on, there's nothing else you can do."

Lindsay stopped at traffic lights and turned to Angell. "It's difficult when you have to see someone each day. It's like a constant reminder."

"Can't that be a good thing? There's a lot you liked, or still like about him, just because you can't have a romantic relationship doesn't mean you can't be friends."

Lindsay shrugged, focusing back on the traffic as the lights changed. "I shouldn't have gotten involved with someone at work."

Angell put a hand on her arm and squeezed it gently. "Sometimes we don't consider what happens if it goes wrong because we're too caught up in the… the heat of it all."

"Have you thought about you and Flack like that?" Lindsay said. Angell wondered whether Lindsay felt as if she had patronised her.

"We're not seeing each other, but yes, I guess I have. If we do start dating, and something happens, then I'll get over it," Angell said. "This is all speaking hypothetically, of course."

"I don't know if I could be like that; contemplate the ending of something before it begins," Lindsay said.

Angell shrugged. She knew someone needed to have a serious word or ten with Danny about how he had seriously screwed up the situation. "Aren't you still hanging out together?"

"Yes," Angell saw Lindsay smile. "We still get along great."

"You need to know how he sees it. If it's a buddy thing or more. Then you can get your own head around it," Angell said. Clearly Lindsay knew nothing about Danny's fling with Rikki Sandoval.

Lindsay parked up and went straight up to the lab, leaving Angell to make her way to the cells where Etchells was being held. By now she knew all about the pictures that he had managed to get hold of, and although it hadn't unnerved her then, now, even in clammy heat of the night, she felt slightly chilled.

"His brief's on his way," Jimmy Perevil told her. We're going to observe through the glass, so you know we're there, Jess. "He's complete scum."

"I hardly thought he'd be winning citizen of the year, Jimmy," she said.

"You never can tell seeing who gives these awards," he wandered back to his chair.

Etchells' brief arrived looking tired and peeved. He nodded at Angell before going into the interview room to greet his client, clearly wishing to be anywhere but here. After giving them a few minutes to speak, she went in to the room and sat opposite Etchells, for the first time seeing the face of one of the men involved in the brutal rape of four women.

"Good evening, Mr Etchells," she said, keeping her voice low. "You know already that I'm Detective Angell."

Etchells nodded and smirked, staring hard at her.

"I'm not sure if you've heard yet, but earlier this evening a 29-year-old woman named Melissa Raymond was murdered and then dumped behind a restaurant. Her hair was shaved."

Etchells nodded. "I told you it wasn't me hurting those girls. Can I go now?"

Angell smiled. "That's not going to happen. The hair from the four previous victims was found at your house, and you have been formerly identified as the rapist of one woman, through your DNA and your photo."

Etchells smirked. "I didn't rape them. I gave them what they wanted. They enjoyed it."

She ignored his comment. "You can possibly buy yourself a deal by telling us who your friend is whose still killing. It could mean the difference between life with or without parole. Or even which jail you go to."

"How do you like it, Angell?" Etchells said. "Do you like it rough and hard after a day's work, or are you more of the slow and romantic type? I bet you're a screamer though. I could make you scream. I could make you scream real loud."

"Mr Etchells," his attorney interrupted. "Can I advise you to be quiet and consider what the detective is offering you?"

"The detective, attorney, is offering me jackshit, because she knows that as soon as I'm in jail I will be dead," Etchells turned away from the lawyer. "Detective Angell. I did not physically harm those women. The man you want is not interested in sex, just pain. Melissa was chosen a while ago as an ideal kill for him, but he decided not to go with it. I prefer them alive, Detective."

"How did you meet?"

"The women? We choose them at random. In shops or libraries or on the subway."

"How did you meet your friend?"

"Oh, my friend," he smiled. "That would be giving clues away wouldn't it? Well, we've known each other for a very long time. That's why it's nice to know he's happy, and he'll be very happy after tonight. He'd had his eye on Melissa for a very long time. It was her hair, you see. But you won't find that just yet. That will be sent somewhere very special." Etchells sighed, almost happily. "And now you've told me the good news I would like to go back to sleep. I'm sure it's against my human rights to not be allowed my eight hours."

Angell stood up. She had more than what she had come in with.

"Sweet dreams, detective," she heard as the door was unlocked for her. She paused and turned back to him.

"Before you get of on it, people like you don't give me nightmares and I don't think about you when I get home, or when I'm in the shower or when I'm fucking," he had sat bolt upright and was now staring at her as she spoke. "Because I choose to put people like you in prison, and when I step out of here it will be like switching off a computer."

"What about all the pictures, detective? Do they not trouble you?" he sounded genuinely interested.

She laughed. "I never wanted to be Paris Hilton. But what does it matter? It's a bit of paper."

He looked troubled and she smothered a smile.

"Good night, Etchells. I hope you have pleasant dreams about all the men you'll meet in prison. Be assured your cell mate will be hand-picked."

She closed the door behind her and saw Flack stood there, smiling. "Nice work in there," he said. She nodded, agreeing. "We've got a witness."

"Good. Have you pulled Etchells history yet?" she said, her tone demanding.

"Simpkin was looking into it this afternoon, why?"

"They either went to school together or lived together at some point. They've been doing this much longer than we've known."

"Etchells only moved here from Wichita eighteen months ago."

"And whoever he's been hunting with did too. Any unsolveds in Wichita?"

Flack shook his head. "That much I do know. But he was only there for nine months. Before Wichita he was here in New York. I'll go get the notes Simpkin should have left on my desk."

She watched as he ran off, unaware of Jimmy Peveril watching her. "My wife never looked at me like that," he said.

Angell suddenly became aware of herself and for an instant felt mortified. It passed quickly. "Well maybe you never looked like that, Jimmy."

Jimmy shrugged. "Well, she never looked like you neither." Angell smiled. Jimmy was a good man, almost at the end of his career and she liked him. He'd helped her out when she'd first started in the NYPD, and because of him she'd managed to avoid several of the practical jokes some of the others were looking forward to playing on the young rookie female detective.

Flack returned, reading as he speed-walked down the corridor. He passed her notes then continued reading over her shoulder.

"James Etchells," she read aloud for the sake of the other officers who had now appeared. "Aged 36. One brother, Malcolm, jailed for an assault on a minor, served ten months in Attica, released twenty months ago." She looked up at Flack. "It's his brother."

"Carry on reading," Flack said.

She did. "Younger sister… died aged seven when James was fifteen and Malcolm seventeen. Cause of death never stated."

"The waitress said the man she saw was missing an earlobe. According to the second page," Flack took the papers from Angell's hands and flicked though them. "Malcolm Etchells lost part of his earlobe in a fight in Attica. We've got our second killer."

"So we just need to catch him, which, Detectives Flack and Angell, means you can go home and get some sleep. Tired detectives are crap at interviews in my opinion," Angell looked behind her to see Captain Dave Glass, otherwise known as The Ghoul, standing there. He was fairly new, newer than she was, but had already gained the reputation of walking so silently that he needed a cow bell around his neck so they knew where he was. "I'll give you thirty minutes to brief Mulligan and Redmond and I want to out of here and I'll go and put out an APB for Malcolm Etchells."

"Sir, I think we should stay…" Flack said. He was cut short by the captain shaking his head.

"Go home now and I don't want to see you for at least six hours. You can't do your job without sleep," Glass said.

"Try telling that to Mac," Flack said in an undertone as they made their way to where Mulligan and Redmond were waiting for them.

-&-

Less than twenty minutes later they were in the car park where Flack had parked. "I don't know if I'll be able to sleep after this," he said, trying to remotely unlock the car and not succeeding.

"I'll make you an Irish Coffee," Angell said, stopping at the bottom of the steps to pull up the zipper on one of her boots that had become faulty.

He laughed. "Why's the goddamn thing not unlocking? Something's not right, Jess, get back." He took another step forward and pressed the button again.

The next thing Angell saw was Flack being thrown ten feet away from where he had been stood as car turned into a ball of flames and smoke, the windscreen shattering and shards of glass shooting across the car park like bullets from a gun.

_I know. Review and I'll let you know if he lives!_


	9. Chapter 9 Coincidences Made From Glass

_Firstly, many thanks to Sonnet Lacewing for being the best beta ever, and far too knowledgable! Your help, and words, "Mrs Flack", are invaluable. If you are in need of a good Bones fic to read then check out Sonnet's 'Burnt Offerings': I can vouch for it being fantastic!_

_Thank you to all my lovely reviewers as always. Your encouragement is what keeps me writing!_

_Enjoy - usual disclaimer applies. Although in my dreams I own Flack. (You think he'd send me a signed photo to hang up in my classroom, or is that too fangirly for a 28 year old teacher?)_

Chapter Nine – Coincidences Made from Glass

Mac had been one of the first on the scene along with Captain Glass. The fire was barely burning, nothing else close enough to catch from it as Flack had parked in the first possible space he had seen, at the far end of the car park and now the sprinkler system had been activated and it looked like little more damage would occur. It was just the man who lay on the ground

Angell crouched down next him, her hand on his wrist, continually feeling his pulse. He was still alive. The force from the blast had pushed him into one of the metal posts that supported the building, knocking him out. He had several nasty looking gashes from the shards of glass, one of which was embedded in his cheek. Angell looked up at Mac as he kneeled down at the other side of Flack.

"The emergency services are on their way; in fact I can hear their sirens now. Flack's been through much worse than this," Mac said. She nodded. They had talked about what had happened once, when Flack had had too much to drink at the end of a heavy case. He wasn't comfortable with discussing it.

She felt her eyes prick with tears, and fought to hold them back. She didn't do tears. Four older brothers had seen to that.

"You can be upset, you know," Mac said. Glass was stood to one side, talking quietly and quickly on his phone. "I'll ride with you in the ambulance."

"I've arranged for two uniforms to be at the hospital. This wasn't coincidence," Glass said, folding his phone and putting it away. "Did I hear you say you'll go with Angell?"

Mac nodded. Angell noticed people begin to spill onto the scene: fire fighters, Stella and Lindsay, Mulligan, who nodded at her, keeping a distance.

"What happened, Jess?" Glass asked.

"The remote locking on Flack's car wasn't working, so when he put the key in the driver side, it just exploded," she said, rubbing the wet trails away from her eyes. She saw two paramedics get out of the ambulance that had pulled up and walk over. Angell moved away, Mac with her. They put a neck support on after checking his vitals and moved him onto a stretcher. One of them nodded at her and Flack as his colleagues began to move him into the ambulance.

"Are you coming with us?" he said.

Mac nodded. "I'm Detective Taylor and this is Detective Angell. We're okay to ride with you?"

"I'm Leon. Come on in. He's taken a nasty bump to the head by the looks of things," the paramedic said.

Mac pushed Angell up into the ambulance. Her legs seemed to have given up working, and she was finding that she couldn't hear anything properly; it was all just noise.

"Here," Leon sat beside her. Mac had gone in the front of the ambulance, leaving the two other paramedics to cram into the back. Leon handed her a piece of gauze and pressed her hand up to her face. "You're bleeding. That's a nasty gash you've got there."

Angell caught sight of her hand and saw more blood. The glass from the windows of the car had cut her, only she hadn't realised it until now.

"We'll get that cleaned up at the hospital. How are you feeling?" he said.

She looked at him, her capacity to speak having shrunk to nothing.

"You're in shock, Jessica. Your partner's going to be fine. He may have a couple of broken bones and he's knocked himself out, but I've seen much worse, and so's he by the looks of it," Leon said. She looked over at where Flack lay, his shirt had been removed and she could see the scarring from where he had been previously hurt. She hadn't seen it before, the criss-cross of pink lines on skin. It wasn't pretty. The tears that she had been trying to hold back began to flow and she heard herself sob. Leon stayed next to her while his colleague oversaw Detective Don Flack who by now was connected up to an IV, every pulse beat being monitored.

"He'll be okay," she heard Leon say again. "We need to assess how bad his head injury is, but from our observations there's no damage to his spine."

Her eyes remained fixed on Flack, watching his chest move up and down. She felt numb, as if something had been weighing on her limbs and now she couldn't move them. She was aware of the blood on the gauze which Leon kept replacing, but couldn't feel the sting. The chaos was internal.

-&-

Stella knelt down beside what was left of Flack's car and surveyed the remains of the explosive. It wasn't part of her expertise, but she had learnt from Mac over the years. She looked up at Glass who was standing, watching her with interest. From what she knew he had transferred from an area where forensics and detectives were two different species. This was new to him, and rather than being indifferent to it, he seemed interested.

"Have you considered any link between the two cases, Captain?" she said, watching his response.

"No, for the main reason that two cases like these are only linked together in fiction, Detective Bonasera," he said. "I'm interested in any theories though."

"Flack was at the crime scene in his car. We know that James Etchells liked to watch when the victims were discovered. I'd say it was likely that Malcolm watches also. Clearly, Flack would be coming back to station and Malcolm would know which car belonged to Detective Flack. To fix an explosive like this one would not take long, if it was already made," she said, standing up.

Glass nodded. "It would have had to have been very pre-meditated. Why target Flack though? Angell has also worked on the case, as has Detective Mulligan."

"By targeting Flack, he is also getting at Angell. Maybe he has a fascination with them after seeing them at the third crime scene together," Stella offered. "Like I said, Captain Glass, it is just a theory."

"But it is logical. Angell's been looking into the attack on Flack's apartment, working on the theory that it was carried out as a belated attack of revenge on Flack Senior, which does sound more viable. Hopefully she'll be in a fit state for me to speak to her later," Glass said, watching as Lindsay got inside what was left of the car. The fire hadn't been a hot one and they were hoping to be able to still retrieve any evidence that had been left.

"Any connections between the two?" Stella said, retying her hair.

"The person to work that out would be Detective Angell. She was looking at a case from 78/79 which Flack's father worked on," Glass said, a little mesmerised with what Stella was doing with her hair. "Don't you need to look in a mirror to be able to do that?"

"Apparently not," Stella said, raising her brows at him. "Which case was it?"

"Harper. Matthew Harper. Ring any bells?"

She nodded knowingly. "We have a connection." Glass looked at her. "Matthew Harper is serving thirty something years for the murder of four male prostitutes. It was one of the cases I studied back in school. He was transferred to Attica four years ago and refused parole because of an attack on two people. Mac was the CSI who put the evidence together afterwards. How much do you bet that Harper and Malcolm Etchells knew each other inside?"

"Slim, but fat enough that it warrants being cooked," she raised her eyebrows at his analogy. "I never say never," he said. "I also only work off facts. I'll get you a search warrant for Harper's cell and visitor records, see what evidence you can find of contact between them since Malcolm Etchells was released. And how do you know about Etchells being in Attica?"

"The walls have ears," she said, as he began to walk away, possibly to disturb some judge's peaceful night's sleep.

"I'll bear that in mind."

Stella smiled. She had worked with worse. A lot worse, in fact.

-£-

Mac held two cups of coffee and was standing at the door of Flack's hospital room. Angell was still sat where he had left her, watching the patient almost without blinking. He knew she was in shock, and that what she was going through mentally would be almost worse than Flack's physical injuries.

"You need to drink this," he said, giving her one of the coffees. She took it, barely glancing at it and sipped. "Jessica," he said, using her Christian name for one of the first times. "Flack really is going to be alright. I saw the consultant on the way back here and she said that there are no broken bones; he's dislocated his right shoulder. He has a grade three concussion which he will come around from hopefully within a few hours. The scan showed no significant damage, and there were no skull fractures on the x-ray." He remembered how she'd been whilst Flack was having x-rays, on edge and nervous, a complete contrast to her usual matter-of-fact personality.

She nodded, taking her eyes off Flack finally and looking at the coffee that was left. "I just wish he'd wake up."

"He will. It takes a hell of a lot to stop Flack," Mac said.

"Has someone called his parents?" she asked.

"Glass will have. I imagine they'll be on their way. Is there anything you want?" he said.

She shook her head. The consultant appeared at the door carrying large x-rays and a copy of the scan.

"Mrs Flack?" the consultant asked. Angell blinked in confusion and opened her mouth to correct, but Mac interrupted.

"Mrs Flack is still in shock, I think." He turned back toward Angell, giving an almost-imperceptible nod. "Mrs Flack, if you aren't up to this…"

Angell seemed to understand. "Sorry, it's been a hard night but I need to know he's okay."

"I'm Mrs Karpmann," the woman introduced herself. "I'm sorry I haven't been in earlier, but we've had a few emergencies tonight." She pinned up the x-rays on the light board. "He's been lucky. He has a dislocated shoulder and a heavy concussion. When he wakes up he will have the headache from hell and will probably feel nauseous. Once he's awake we'll fix the dislocated shoulder." Mac watched as Mrs Karpmann eyed the young detective. "Now, you have at least two seriously deep lesions that need treating, else you're going to be scarred. One of my nurses will be along shortly to fix them. If you don't go with her I will make this room family only, which you, my dear, don't qualify as. Do you understand?"

Angell nodded. "You sound like my mom."

Mrs Karpmann laughed. "And you sound like my daughter. Now, Detective Flack isn't going to have any other wives show up tonight, is he?" She gave Angell and Mac a knowing look, before leaving the room with the same hurricane force with which she had entered.

Mac left the room, knowing that he couldn't hang on much longer now he knew that Flack wasn't in any danger. He headed toward the doors to outside and pulled out his cell.

"Stella," he said, when she answered. "How are things?"

"We've finished with the car. No fingerprints, no hair, nothing to go off. We have the remains of the explosive for you to look at, but to me it seems similar to the one used in Flack's apartment. We have some interesting theories to look into, and it looks as if we will be taking a trip to Attica tomorrow," she said.

"In that case, go home and get some sleep. Attica is never an easy place to go to," he said, curious as to why Attica was on the agenda. "Captain Glass can fill me in when I get back to the lab."

"No, I'll give a brief low down now. If you can, speak to Angell about it," she ran him through the current suspicions. "Is Flack still on the mend?" she asked once she had finished. He had already phoned several times to keep the team updated.

"He's going to be fine. It's Detective Angell I'm more concerned about," he said. "Have Flack's parents been informed?"

"Angell will be fine, Mac. I think she's just had a bit of a wake-up call. Danny's been saying that Flack was worried he was bugging her by being protective. She's had a taste now of how it feels," Stella said. "We've not been able to get in touch with Flack's parents, Mac. Phone lines are down in that area because of the storms. They've got it worse than us. Also, Flack Senior's cell phone isn't being answered. Glass has said he'll keep trying to get through. If there's no contact by morning, we'll ask the sheriff to go round. He's not critical and he has Angell there."

"Okay," Mac hung up, knowing all too well that Stella would still be there when he got back. They had two big cases, and he knew that they were snowed under with sorting through evidence from both. The car may have been finished, but there would have been the detritus from around the vehicle that would need examining in the hope of something that could lead them toward a suspect.

He headed back into the room where Angell was standing, butterfly stitches up her right temple and along one forearm.

"How are you feeling?" he said.

"The stinging seems to have woken me up," she said. "I'm sorry, I…"

"It doesn't matter. We all react in different ways. After my wife died I barely slept. Everyday it gets a little easier. We never know how we will react in certain situations until they happen, and luckily for you and Flack, and the rest of us, this isn't one of those situations," he said. "Detective Angell, tell me where you're up to with your inquiry into the explosion at Flack's apartment."

She told him about the Matthew Harper case, and about her visit to Andy Halmann. Her details were to the point and precise, her words chosen carefully to establish meaning without accusations.

"Both Harper and Malcolm Etchells have been inside Attica," she said. "It's a small coincidence."

"But one we're looking into. Stella and I are off to Attica tomorrow."

"There're more than those pieces to fit together though. Like Halmann," she said.

Mac nodded. "But we need evidence to be able to know where they will go. We're one step closer, Jess. You need to try to get some sleep."

"Do we know when Flack's parents will be here?" she said, sitting down in the chair.

"The telephone lines are down in their area because of the storm," he watched her reaction, she looked tense. "If there's still no contact by morning we'll get someone over there. The weather is bad; we don't suspect anything has happened. If we did, we'd be there."

"I know," she said quietly. He was relieved to see that she appeared more like her normal self.

"You won't go home, and I don't think you should, but try and get some sleep here. We need you in this investigation. And mark my words; Flack will have discharged himself within a few hours of waking up, whether his head feels like hell or not. I'll make sure Glass has sent officers to check your apartment," he nodded his goodbye and left. For him, the night was young and his lab called. There were facts to find, ones which could stop this before anyone else got hurt.

_Please review, pretty please :)_


	10. Chapter 10 Sexy Boy

Chapter Ten – Sexy Boy

_Thank you to all of you who have reviewed!_

_Once again, thanks to my fantastic beta too._

_Usual disclaimer applies._

_Enjoy!_

Chapter Ten – Sexy Boy

Flack awoke wondering if he'd spent the past three days on a bender with Danny Messer, the pain in his head being reminiscent to when said jaunt had once happened. He opened his eyes and found himself in a small, white room, white sheets wrapped around him from the waist down and his scar on show for whoever walked in the room to see. He cast his eyes down, not wanting to move his head due to the nauseous feeling that was now encroaching. A pile of dark brown hair was slumped next to his chest on the left and he wished that the first time they had been near a bed together had been under better circumstances than this.

"Hey, Jessica," he said, tentatively moving an arm and touching her hair with his hand. He heard a groan and she pulled herself up.

"You're awake," she said.

He made an attempt at nodding then realised it hurt.

"Do you remember what happened?" she said.

"I know I need to buy a new car." She laughed and for a moment they simply stared at each other. "Have you been home?"

She shook her head.

"You've been here all night?"

"I haven't handled it very well," she said. He saw her eyes fill up with tears, something he thought was impossible.

"Hey, why are you upset?" he said. She shook her head.

"Possibly because you were flung ten feet across the air into a metal post and have been out cold for ten hours," a voice from the door said. "Now you're awake I can check you over. I'm Nurse Holden, but the way. Jessica, go get yourself a coffee and drink it in the canteen. As soon as this one sits up he's going to upchuck his toe nails."

Angell stood up, obeying the nurse as there seemed little else to do. Flack managed to reach hold of her hand, squeezing it before she made her way to the door.

"Right, time to sit up," she helped lever him up and he suddenly realised the force with which he had hit the post. "You've got a good girl there," she said as he proceeded to vomit into the basin she had put in front of him. "She's been beside herself with worry, but she's done as she's been told."

He looked up briefly between bouts of sickness as the rather large nurse. "I'm not surprised."

"You watch what you're saying. In case you've not noticed the pain in your shoulder, which you probably haven't because we've fed you so many painkillers, you've dislocated it. And I'm going to be the one who relocates it. So the nicer you are, the less I'll hurt you," she said, sitting down. "How do you feel?"

"Better for being sick," he said, grabbing the towel she was holding and wiping his face. She moved the basin.

"How many of me do you see?"

"One, thankfully."

"Impertinent boy. How many fingers?"

He went through the tests, and Nurse Practioner Holden seemed happy with the results.

"Have you had concussion before?" she said, bringing a knee up on to the bed with surprising agility.

"A couple of times. I played a lot of hockey and knocked myself out on the ice a few times. Once I was out for nearly twenty-four hours," he said. He would still prefer concussion to a hangover after drinking with Danny.

"And how long did it take you to get back on the ice after that?" she said.

"Same day I woke up. I recover quickly," he winced as she began to move his shoulder.

"You'll need a sling for your shoulder for a few days. Try and wear it. Don't put pressure on it else you'll do yourself some real damage, and by pressure that includes the horizontal tango," he found himself blushing. "Ready?"

He winced as she moved his shoulder then strapped it up in a shoulder support. He was impressed with it, even with it on it enabled him to move his arm as normal.

"Any chance of a shower?" he said once she had finished.

"Only if you have me or your girlfriend help you. You've had grade three concussion. You're lucky not have splattered your brains. If you fall in the shower or lose consciousness again you'll hurt."

Flack lay back down.

"I said your girlfriend could help you."

"She's not my girlfriend," he said, hating the words.

"Well, you could have fooled me," she picked up the remnants from her visit. "You need any pain relief? You should still be okay from the drip they had you on."

He shook his head. "When can I get out of here?"

"As soon as you've seen one of the doctors and he agrees it's not suicide to discharge yourself. He'll be on his rounds in a couple of hours. You want a coffee?"

"Just water," he said. "Thank you, nurse."

"You're welcome. It's good to see you've healed, by the way." He looked down at his scar and then back to her. "I was one of the nurses that looked after you that first night. You wouldn't remember, but you're healing well." She left the room before he could respond, leaving Angell to come back in.

"Setting a new trend, Flack," she said, smiling.

He nodded. "All the cool kids are wearing them." She was about to sit back in the chair next to the bed. He moved up, creating space at the side of him. "Come and sit here."

She did, kicking off her shoes and moving her legs next to his. Her suit was crumpled and blood stained. He had already noticed the butterfly stitches at the side of her face and on her arm. Flack put his good arm around her shoulders and pulled her into him. Her head dropped onto his shoulder and he felt her eyelashes against his skin. He nuzzled her hair, feeling her tears trailing down his chest.

"When we get time when we won't be interrupted we need to go on a date," he said. The former areas of grey had been dissolved; the bang on the head had made him certain about a few things.

She looked up at him and nodded. Wincing, he moved his other arm across and began to dry the tear tracks. They didn't say anything, they didn't need to. The electricity was still there, he felt it with every touch or glance, but it came with certain patience. A hospital room with an unlocked door and a concussion was not the best time to start something physical, and what rush was there? She curled back into him, her eyes closing. He allowed himself to enjoy it, never having known she had this side to her, that behind that tough, wise girl exterior was vulnerability. Something softened inside him as he recalled something else her father had told him yesterday - that she didn't get upset over herself, only when she couldn't look after other people. He knew that feeling.

"I thought you said she wasn't your girlfriend?" Nurse Holden said, walking back into the room with a glass of water and abruptly waking him up. "Funny that the consultant thought she was your wife." She picked up the glass that had been placed there while he had been asleep.

"She isn't. We haven't even been out on a date yet," he said, thankful Angell was asleep, or seemed to be. He glanced at the clock. Four hours since he'd come round.

"The doctor is on his way round. However, I do have a couple of people to see you; hence I have brought your shirt – which is now clean. But to put it on, you need to untangle yourself from your non-girlfriend," she put the garment on the bed next to him.

"Do these people have names?" he said, not moving.

"A Detective Messer and a Captain Glass. Both of whom seem very nice and concerned about you and non-girlfriend here," she said, a cutting tone in her voice.

"I take your point, Nurse Holden," he said. "It's just complicated."

"Life's too short for complicated," she said. "There was a doctor I was deeply in love with many moons ago and I did nothing about it. Doctors and nurses on the same wards weren't meant to be involved back the, nowadays it's all that goes on of course, if you believe the TV. Anyhow, he attended a scene he was passing when a man was shot. Complete instinct. Of course, the shooter wants his victim dead, so he shoots my doctor too. I was in the operating room when he came round," she smiled wistfully.

"So you asked him out?" Flack said, feeling Angell beginning to stir beside him.

"No, I proposed. He said yes. Of course, for the past thirty years he's been trying to argue he was delirious when he agreed," she shrugged. "Our first date was our engagement party. Sleeping beauty's awake. You look a lot better. You looked closer to death than him at one point." Nurse Holden made her way to the door. "I'll send the two officers in, shall I?"

Flack nodded and Angell returned to her seat. Danny and Glass emerged, Glass looking as if he had been up all night, which he probably had.

"We got news," Danny said as soon as he came through the door.

-&-

Attica at six-thirty in the morning was never going to be a pleasant place to be. In fact, Attica at any time of day was not pleasant, Mac could certainly testify to that. They were in the cell belonging to Matthew Harper and so far they had found nothing remotely incriminating.

"He doesn't read, he doesn't write, he apparently makes no phones calls, so even if he and Malcolm Etchells knew each other when Etchells was here, we haven't found any way of proving that they are in touch," Stella said, closing the last drawer.

"We're working on theories. We have no proof that Flack's father was threatened by Harper. We have no confirmation that Etchells and Harper were friends in here. This is almost a waste of time," Mac said. He went back into the corridor and called to the guard. "Hey! Who does Harper talk to when he's out of his cell?"

The guard walked over to them. "Not many people. He's trying to keep his nose clean and get out of here when his chance of parole comes up."

"So which people? We need to know if he's been managing to get messages out of here," Mac said.

The guard shrugged. "Monty Jones," he said. "But that's not me talking."

"A prisoner?" Mac said.

The guard shook his head. "Nope. Monty's a counsellor. Harper's been talking to him for about three years. Apparently his dad messed about with him when he was little and he wants to get it off his chest."

"And the visits are unsupervised?" Stella said, joining Mac.

The guard nodded. "And unrecorded. Violation of his doctor-patient confidentiality or some shit. Monty's searched before and after each visit, clean as a whistle. But I don't like him."

"Any particular reason why?" Mac said.

"Every time he comes here he's in a flash car. Always an expensive one, you know, a Ferrari, a Lamborghini. He's a frickin' counsellor for the prison. My wife's one; and they don't do the job for the money if you get what I'm saying," the guard said. "Recently, after Monty's visits, I've asked Harper what they've been talking about. He just says "my father, you know, The Don," then laughs. Harper's nothing to do with Mafia, so I just think it's an in-joke."

"How long ago did he start making this joke?" Stella asked.

"About eighteen months ago," the guard looked at his watch. "I'm off shift in a couple of minutes. I hope I've helped. If it means keeping that scum off the streets I'm happy to help you more if you need it."

"You've been very useful," Mac said, offering the guard his hand. "When does Monty usually come in?"

"Every Tuesday without fail. But he turns up other days too, random days. I'll see you again, hopefully with good news."

Mac followed Stella out without speaking.

"Interesting," she said once they got to the car park.

Mac nodded. "Monty Jones. It will be interesting to speak with him. But we still have nothing concrete, it's all talk." He got into the car. "We have a vague connection between Harper and Malcolm Etchells. We know Harper is making vague references to 'The Don', which could mean Flack's father. If we're right, then this Monty guy could be the intermediary between Harper and whoever's set up the explosions, which could be Malcolm Etchells."

It's all coulds and might be's," Stella said. "I say we stop chasing rainbows and go back to what we've got. When's Malcolm Etchells' place being searched?"

"As soon as Glass has a warrant," Mac said. "Which means we've time for breakfast."

-&-

Flack was sure Danny Messer had given more thought to his little speech in the hospital room than he had in any performance review in the last four years. In fact, Flack was sure Danny's mouth was about to seize up from still smiling at his own joke, and if it hadn't seized up by the time they were out of the car, then the fist Flack would land on it would do the job.

It was now nearly five in the afternoon. Flack had been discharged an hour ago and had persuaded Danny to drive him to a couple of shops so he could buy some new clothes, since everything in his apartment was completely beyond wearing. Angell had been taken to her apartment by Captain Glass to pick some up belongings, as they had been told that they were not to return there. Flack knew they were being put into protective custody, or at least he was. Hotels were safer and more anonymous than staying with a friend so Danny had booked them two rooms, a fact he had assured them the Captain approved of. He then proceeded to assure them that the rooms were next to each other, and no one ever need know if one of the beds wasn't slept in.

Flack and Angell had starred silently at him, Danny shrugging, his back to the door through which Glass had just re-entered. Everybody knew that relationships went on at work, but no one spoke about it. Relationships could cause problems with loyalty. Relationships could cause transfers.

Glass, to his credit, had simply stepped back out, apparently hearing no evil and Danny had apologised profusely. And then smiled.

Angell had gone with Mac and Stella to search Malcolm Etchells apartment, which was in an area that even Flack would not have liked to walk through at night, the fact that a cemetery was next to where Malcolm lived even more of a deterrent. He hadn't heard from her

The purchasing of trousers and shirts and a couple of suits hadn't taken more than twenty minutes, but had added considerably to his credit card bill. Flack liked his clothes, but didn't need to spend long deciding what it was he wanted. Two shops later with Danny whinging about crowded places and they were ready to leave.

"So, you going to just use one of those hotel rooms?" Danny said, still smiling.

"No, because I like to take a woman out before jumping into bed with her. Then I make my mind whether it's a good idea or not," Flack said, knowing he was hitting below the belt.

"You're referring to Lindsay," Danny said, looking more than a little put out, the smile gone.

"Yeah, I'm referring to Lindsay. You let her believe that you were having some sort of relationship. Now she's blaming herself for you behaving like something that keeps his brains in his pants," Angell had briefly filled him in earlier about Lindsay's outburst in the car early that morning.

"Does she know about Rikki?" Danny asked.

Flack shook his head. "No, she doesn't. If she did she'd already be back in Montana." His head hurt and he realised that now wasn't the best time for this conversation, but it beat having to talk about what had happened just over twelve hour ago. He wasn't allowed to drive, wasn't meant to walk far or do anything that caused exertion. The conversation with Danny was possibly classified as exertion.

"I never said that we were having a relationship," Danny said, picking up speed as they made their way out of the worst of the traffic.

"No, but you let her believe that you are."

Danny nodded. "So I did a bad thing. Truth is, Flack, I like Lindsay, she's good fun. But she can be a little heavy sometimes and I'm just not ready to settle down."

"I'll tell you what happened. You liked her; she wasn't interested because of the court case back home etcetera. Then she was interested and you had your fun, but the chase was over and now you're bored," Flack said.

"So why you mad at me for this?" Danny said, stopping at lights.

"Because I'm mad about things in general at the moment, and you happen to be sitting next to me," Flack said. "Sort things out with her, let her know where she stands, one way or another."

"I'm not sure how we stand," Danny said, pulling up in front of the hotel in a parking bay.

"Then for her sake, you need to decide on it quickly," Flack said, wincing as he opened the car door.

Flack got to his hotel room first, Danny taking a phone call before he got inside the elevator, and saw a note pinned up on the door. _Date, tonight, hotel restaurant 7:30._ He smiled, taking it down before Danny could get there.

"What are you smiling at, Flack?" Danny said, dropping the bags down inside the room. "Nice place. The department is clearly splashing out."

Flack tried to shrug and found it painful. "You heard anything about the search on Malcolm Etchells' apartment?" he said.

Danny nodded. "Etchells wasn't there, unsurprisingly. They've found wires the same as what were used in the two explosives. Mac's trying to match them, but thinks Etchells has been wise enough to use different rolls so we can't trace them back. Apparently there was a load of nasty porn and other bits of evidence that links him with the four girls and Melissa."

"So it looks like it is Etchells who's trying to finish me off?" Flack said, sitting on the bed.

Danny nodded. "And we've not got him yet, so it's a good job you're here, under false names and tomorrow you'll be somewhere else. I am sorry, man; this whole thing's a bag of shit."

"They found anything to link Malcolm Etchells back with Matthew Harper," Flack said. He was convinced the explosions had something to do with his father after what Angell had overheard.

Danny shook his head. "Nothing. It's not that Mac doesn't think there's something, there's just no proof."

Flack stood up and made his way to the window. There was no view, out or in. The rooms overlooked the top of the kitchens. Danny had picked them well. "Whoever is behind this isn't going to stop until I'm dead."

"We realise that, that's why you're here," Danny said, his tone implying that Flack had somehow missed the point.

"They're going to need smoking out," Flack said, pulling out his cell. "Has anyone managed to get in touch with my parents?" he said, hearing Glass' phone ringing.

"We had a local sheriff go round. They weren't there – car had gone. He figured they'd gone away for a couple of nights."

Flack hung up. Glass wasn't answering. "I'll try my brother," he said. "That's where they go when they're trying to avoid me."

Danny nodded and made his way to the door. "Have fun. Those beds look big, by the way. You might want to find someone to share it with."

"Yeah, very funny, Messer. Now go, you got your own problems to sort out." He dialled his brother's house, a feeling of worry churning in his stomach. "Hey, Tim, it's me. Are mom and dad with you?" The answer was positive; they were staying with him for a few days and were currently on their way to a restaurant. "That's good. Tell them I'm okay and to call my cell if they want to speak to me. Yeah, I'm fine. I'll catch up with you soon. Bye." He hung up, the churning stopping, but something still not feeling quite right.

Flack checked out the shower and pushed all thoughts of the investigations to one side. He smiled, unbuttoning his shirt. He had a date to get ready for.

_Please review!_


	11. Chapter 11 Open Up Your Eyes

_Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter - and everyone who read it! It's nice to be getting so many hits!_

_This is the date chapter. It is irrelevant to the main plot. If it were a film it would be rated in Britain as a 15 (for people age 15 years and over.) It isn't what I would classify as an M rated chapter, so I'm not altering the rating, but don't read if you're easily offended._

_Usual disclaimer applies._

Chapter Eleven – Open Up Your Eyes

The hotel was a good one, and Flack was aware that Danny had pulled some strings or favours from someone to get them here for the night. For a second he felt guilty at being so hard on his friend, then came to the conclusion that it was the best thing he could have done. He took a last look in the mirror, unbuttoning the top of his new shirt and checking that he hadn't left the labels on. He had taken some of the painkillers he'd been given by the doctor before leaving the hospital, not wishing bravado to spoil the evening. His head hurt, and he was getting some nasty bruises on his back, but on the whole the worst thing was unstrapping and restrapping the shoulder support. PN Holden was right; there was no way he would be putting any weight on his shoulder for a good few days.

The main stairs were busy with people coming and going; many were business men in suits; a handful looked like tourists. Flack felt filled with a nervous anticipation as he made his way to the restaurant. He figured that Angell would be waiting for him in the bar nearby. She was always early, whereas he was just on time.

He saw her from a distance as she stood out from the crowd of suits around her. She wore a simple dark blue dress that stopped at her knees and was held up with tiny straps. Her trademark boots had been replaced with strappy shoes that seemed to occur at the end of very long legs. He stopped before she saw him and watched her for a few seconds, enjoying the fact that she was waiting for him and no one else. Then she saw him and smiled, turning to the bar and holding up a bottle of beer and an orange juice, the latter clearly for him. He laughed out loud, causing people to stare at him.

"What's so funny, Flack?" Angell said as he joined her.

"You," he said, taking a sip of the orange. Alcohol was a no-no given the strength of the tablets he had just taken, and probably wasn't too good given the fact he had suffered a concussion.

"Why? Do I look better in trousers?"

He laughed again. "No, Jess. It's just how you're dressed – you look gorgeous – and then you're drinking beer from a bottle."

She laughed, leaning back against the bar. "I wasn't taught finesse," she said. "How are you feeling?"

He looked at her, aware that he couldn't stop smiling. But the thing was, she was smiling at him the same way. "Hurting," he admitted. "But don't tell anyone."

"Your head?"

"Feels like I've just spent an evening with Danny in a depressed mood," he said.

She laughed. "You look good too," she said, and he felt the flow of electricity between them that had been there all the time, but now it was almost palpable, he could almost touch it and he realised that if whoever it was came up behind him now and shot him, he would die a happy man, because whatever it was that made them touch without making contact was what it was all about.

"What time are we eating?" he said, knowing that he couldn't stand there and stare at her all night, at least not in front of other people.

"Is food all you think about, Flack?" Angell said.

He shook his head. "I needed to think of something else then to take my mind off…" he stopped, not knowing how much she wanted to hear. She was independent – as was he – and he wasn't sure how to put into words what he was beginning to comprehend.

"Take your mind off what, Don?" she said. She had never called him Don before. He focused on the other people around them, remembering where they were and that public displays of affection were not in his nature.

"You," he said simply.

She nodded. He expected a joke about knocks to the head, but none came. Instead she closed the gap between them and put an arm around his neck, lifting herself up to touch his lips with hers. The kiss was soft, and a promise, breaking quickly. "How many dates does this one count for, given all the times we've been out as friends?"

Flack remembered his words to Danny about knowing where things would lead to. "At least the tenth," he said. That was how it felt, or even more. After the first time they'd gone for coffee he'd found himself walking by her desk more, asking her opinion more, finding out more about her, but he'd never considered why. Yes, she was beautiful, all of the straight males in the precinct had noticed that, but he'd dated gorgeous girls before. Yet, something about her drew him toward her. He knew now it was the natural chemistry they had, the way that she could turn him into a klutz when he tried to flirt with her, the way she saw through his game, the way she could smile and make everything better even though his apartment was ruined along with most of his possessions.

"Feels more like double that," she said. His hands sat on her waist, their drinks abandoned by the bar. "Where do we go from here?"

"I don't know," he said. "I'm hoping the restaurant."

She laughed and pulled herself away, rescuing her beer from an eager barman. "Let's go get our table." She took his hand as they walked into the dining area. The lights were low and candles danced at the tables. A waitress led them to a table away from the windows, tucked away in one of the booths.

"Have you spoken to your father today?" he said, taking a menu.

"Briefly. I think he may come over with mom once this case is over," she said. "He said to say hi, and that he'll bring a new pacifier if you are that psychologically damaged."

"Tell me, Jessica. Did you get your sense of humour from him?" Flack said, looking at her from out of the corner of his eye.

She laughed. "I needed a sense of humour to survive in that house. With four brothers and a detective sergeant for a father! I'm surprised I turned out as well as I did!"

"So how did you survive?" he said, his eyes dancing.

"I got along well with them all, although they were protective. That's what made me the way I am, I guess. I didn't want them looking after me all the time as it cramped my style, so I learnt to look after myself," she said, eyeing him, trying to get a reaction.

He pulled on his best poker face. "So you hit errant boyfriends and broke their noses. What would you do to me?"

Her face grew serious. "I wouldn't need to do anything, Donald Flack Junior, because you wouldn't hurt me like that."

He put the menu down, a nearby waitress backing away. They seemed to be good at deterring wait-on staff. "You're right, I wouldn't," he said. "But…"

"How can I be so sure?" she said, shrugging, one of the slight straps of her dress falling off her shoulder. "Instinct. And I've never known you cheat on any of the girls you've been out with, so I guess that's proof. And I don't think you'd ever hurt me intentionally."

The thought made him ache, and he knew she was right. He finished off the orange juice and nodded at her. "The feeling's mutual," he said simply. "We should choose what we're eating."

Their talk revolved around work and Danny and Lindsay for a while, offering them a break from the intensity of what they were feeling. Flack found himself feeling better just by being in her presence; the small jokes she made, the witty replies she came back with.

"So tell me about your family. Why did you follow in your father's footsteps?" she said once the waitress had removed the plates from their main meal.

"I always wanted to do it," he said. "I liked the look of what my father did, putting away the bad guys. My grandfather was a cop too, so I suppose it's in the blood."

"What about your sister and brother?" she said, drinking from a gin and tonic that had just been brought to her.

"Sister's a dentist in Iowa and my brother's a doctor. I was the only one not to go to college – not including the academy. I think that disappointed my mom, but for my dad that was my one redeeming feature," he said. He didn't like to talk about his family, it was a closed book as far as most people were concerned, but Jess wasn't most people.

"Why don't you get along?" she said.

"Because we're so alike in many things. We clashed. I left home as soon as I was accepted into the police academy and never went back, except for holidays and my mother's corned beef," he said.

She held her head to one side. "There has to be food involved somewhere."

He laughed, her question taking the intensity away. "Why did you join the force?"

"I don't know. I went to college and majored in criminology. I think it's genetic. Two of my brothers are also officers. The other two are pharmacists which is the most bizarre career choice as my family are never ill, and they were never exposed to pharmacology of any kind," she said, making him laugh,

"How did your father react when you told him you wanted to join?" he said.

"He'd given up by that point in time. I was not going to be the conventional pretty daughter," she pushed her hair out of the way.

Flack smiled. "Were you a tomboy, by any chance?"

She laughed. "With four brothers? Of course. At least until I discovered boys!"

"Or they discovered you?" he said.

"You busting your game on me again?" she said, still laughing.

"I don't have a game, Jessica," he tried to stay serious.

"So 'you look good in a vest' wasn't a line," she said.

He took a drink of water. "You having dessert?"

She laughed, half in astonishment. "So you're not denying it?"

"I'd obviously be lying," he said, trying to hold in a smile while his eyes shone, a light in them caused by her. "Dessert?"

"Share one with me," she said. He nodded. "And I mean share, Flack, not eat it all yourself."

"You have the wrong opinion of me," he said, opening up the menu the waitress had left them.

"Me and the rest of NYPD."

"I'm a growing boy," he said, making her smile as he caught her eye. She moved her feet from his lap.

"Chocolate raspberry sundae," she said. "I challenge you to let me have half."

"What do I get if I let you?" he said.

She smiled.

-&-

"We should leave and let them clear up," Angell said. The restaurant was emptying, most people having already left. Their coffee cups were dry and it was getting late.

"Shall I walk you to your room, Detective Angell?" Flack said, standing. She could tell by the way he rose from his chair that he was feeling sore.

"If it's not too far out of your way, Detective Flack," she said. They walked side by side to the elevator, their constant conversation now dried up. She caught his eye once inside it and a force of electricity bolted through her. He didn't move, although she was expecting him to. Instead he stayed where he was, at the other side of the elevator and looked at her, his expression serious. She wondered what he was thinking, and itched to say something, but the atmosphere stopped her. She felt like he was touching her, even though he stood three feet away.

The elevator pinged and came to a stop. They walked out along the hallway toward their rooms - a good two minutes away. She stopped and took off her shoes, carrying them instead. He laughed at her, waiting, waiting to see her to her room, but she didn't want him to. Instead, she wanted him to stay with her, the desire hitting her like a night train, taking her breath away.

They reached the wall in between their doors and stopped walking. The whole hotel seemed to have fallen into silence. Flack's bright blue eyes burnt into hers and she felt the force of him as he moved her against the wall, his lips on hers, gently, then of urgency seeping through. She pushed back, trying to get closer to him, arms wrapping round his neck, one leg pushing him closer, her fingers at his shirt buttons.

He nodded. She bent down to pick up the purse she had dropped and fished for her keys. He hadn't asked her if she was sure, he hadn't undermined her independence of thought. She stood up and unlocked the door to her room and he followed her in, the one lamp giving a soft glow.

Angell kissed him, finishing off undoing the button and pulling off his shirt, the shoulder support still there, but arms toned. Her fingers touched the scar on his chest as his hands rested on her shoulders, travelling to the straps of her dress and pushing them off. She let the dress drop off and saw him take her in with his eyes briefly before moving her back onto the bed.

The electricity which had run between them before now enveloped them and she lost herself in it, any awareness of time or place gone. All that mattered was them, was the man she was with, anything else was oblivion.

_A/N; Yes, I know. It was their first 'proper' date and they did the horizontal tango. If I were with Don Flack, I personally wouldn't have made it out of the elevator. They are grown adults, and know their own minds, and I couldn't see them stopping after a kiss._

_However, things have only just begun..._

_Please review, let me know what you think, especially you lurkers... :)_


	12. Chapter 12 Thousand Flowers Could Bloom

_Thank you for all the lovely reviews! It was nice to see some lurkers emerging!_

_Thanks, as always, to my beta Sonnet Lacewing!_

_Usual disclaimer applies._

Chapter Twelve – A Thousand Flowers Could Bloom

Flack woke with a searing pain in his shoulder, the painkillers having worn off during the night, leaving him with more than just a little discomfort. He didn't move, however. The little bottle of tablets was next door, and getting there meant waking up the woman whose head was resting on his chest, his good arm cocooning her. There was no way he was going move, ever, if he could help it.

He shifted slightly, trying to angle himself into a better position. She murmured, shifting against him and readjusting her position in her sleep. Dark brown hair swept over his chest, concealing the scar that she had become fascinated with, tracing it with her fingers and lips with almost animalistic possession.

The words had ceased once they were in her hotel room, scenes he played over in his mind as the pain from his shoulder hit in waves. They had been almost rough in their haste, at first, too much time with being unable to touch had left a desperation whose sweet taste had run sour.

After the first time, their tempo slowed. The first rush giving way to a less urgent need, a deeper need, which Flack was unsure would ever be quenched. They had written on each other's skin the start of a story that he was unsure would end and didn't want to. His fingers traced the contours of her skin, the light touch causing her to wake.

"Morning," she said through heavy eyes.

He pulled her closer to him, kissing her, hands moving, touching. The pain subsided. The doctor should have prescribed her.

-&-

Mac sat down with Glass in his office. So far the captain was an unknown quantity, having only recently moved to the precinct. So far he had impressed Stella, which wasn't the easiest task in the world and Mac was very interested to see how he would react to Flack's suggestion.

"We need evidence," Glass said. "We have to find the counsellor. There is no clear link between Harper and Etchells other than they knew each other in prison. Even if we interview Harper, what's he going to tell us? Sweet nothing." Glass folded his arms and sat back in the chair.

"Flack's father could do with being some help," Mac said. "According to Angell, he's refusing to admit to any threats or negativity arising from past cases. The only reason we can give weight to the theory is what she overheard outside their door."

Glass nodded. "I was concerned when we couldn't get in touch with them. I did think that whoever was targeting Flack had made it to his parents at first, but it turned out they were just staying with his brother."

"So where do we go from here? The search of Malcolm Etchells' apartment has been fruitless. We're trying to locate him, which isn't proving an easy task. Flack has made a suggestion that we smoke him out, watching Harper's movements at the same time. If Harper is involved then he is getting instructions to Etchells via someone else," Mac said, watching the captain's reaction as he suggested putting his officer at risk. "Have we looked any further into Andy Halmann? He was heavily connected with the case and the apparent cause of it nearly collapsing."

"You can understand that I'm not best pleased with the idea of putting one, or even two, of my officers at risk, particularly with what they've already been through," Glass said. "However, I know this is Flack's idea and if we don't get closure on this sooner rather than later, he's going to be more than aggravated."

"So what do you propose?" Mac said with interest.

"The most straightforward plan would be to get both him and Jessica Angell back into her apartment. Keep it quiet, but let something slip to Halmann," Glass said.

"You think Halmann's involvement is notable?"

Glass nodded. "Definitely. If we can keep their return among us and leak it to Halmann I would expect an attack on the apartment within a few days, if not less."

"And we wouldn't necessarily have to have them in there," Mac said. "Let's keep them in hotels for another couple of days and make sure Halmann is aware of that. If we can find this Monty Jones and put a trail on him, that would also be useful. I would like a warrant to search his apartment, but that might warn him too much."

Glass nodded. "Finding him is a priority. We're looking to see what information Attica actually has on him. Failing any true information showing up there, we do door to door on all Monty Jones' in New York. Initial information shows that he works for himself and isn't part of a business. The qualifications are either legit, or very good forgeries, and if they're the latter then someone on the inside is likely to be working with him."

"Or they're someone else's. We have to consider that he isn't Monty Jones at all. If we can find out when he's due in we may be able to get fingerprints or DNA once he has left," Mac said, standing up. The captain was making a good impression on him. He wasn't domineering; a trait which many people in charge could show. Instead he listened and took others' ideas on board.

Glass nodded, also standing. "I have a disciplinary to attend, unfortunately. I'll call Detective Mulligan on the way and have him go over to Attica. I'm reluctant to have anyone interview Harper, purely because at the moment he will think we have no idea whatsoever that he could be involved. I do think that we need to pull in Flack Senior for questioning."

"And if he refuses? Going by what Angell said he isn't inclined to co-operate," Mac said.

"Then I'd charge him. It's not something I would want to do, and it would be a last resort. Arresting an officer who's been almost hero-worshipped around here would not be a popular start," he looked at Mac. "But then it's never been a popularity contest."

"I think I would have Flack speak with his father before it came to that. The man needs to be aware of what he's doing to his son," Mac said.

"There doesn't seem to be much love lost between the two of them. You know any reason why?" Glass said, sitting back down. Clearly the disciplinary could wait a while longer.

Mac also sat. "Flack has a lot of respect for his father as a cop. But that doesn't mean he follows the same procedures as his father did. But I think the main reason behind their discord is just that they are too similar."

"Did you work with Flack Senior?" Glass said.

"We crossed on one case as I started here and he was retiring. He was a good cop, but from the old school. He retired slightly early due to a back injury, rather reluctantly too. I went to the retirement party, and he said very positive things about his son then. Flack Junior never speaks about him, unless asked," Mac said. "But then, he's making his own way rather than riding his father's coattails."

Glass stood up, picking his suit jacket up from the back of the chair. "Interesting, it's always useful to understand some of the background of people we work with. I really must go. Unfortunately, the formalities of this job are the bits I'd much rather dispose of. I'll speak with you soon." He held out his hand and Mac shook it. It had been an interesting conversation.

-&-

Flack sat down in the interview room and flipped open his cell phone, staring at the screen. It was a conversation he wasn't looking forward to, and could quite happily have postponed for some time if it wasn't for the fact that it could well save his life. He hit call and waited, listing to the ringing which seemed to be going on forever.

"Flack." The answer came.

Don Flack Jr was aware that his father knew damn well it was him calling. But emotion was not something he showed.

"Dad. How are you? How's life away from home?" Flack said, not being able to help the sarcastic tone in his voice.

"I'm as well as you would expect. How are you and why are you calling?" his father said.

Flack felt like hanging up already. "Apart from being thrown into a metal post from the force of an explosion after a bomb went off in my car, I'm good, thank you. Several officers did try to get in touch with you when I was unconscious, but you had disappeared off the face of the earth."

Silence greeted him at the other end of the line and Flack checked his cell phone screen, making sure his father had not hung up. He knew he wasn't handling this well.

"Are you okay?" his father said, breaking the quiet.

"I have a dislocated shoulder and a headache from Hades. But apart from that, I'm just cosy. You know, having your apartment turned into a pile of charcoal, and your car blown up is rather life affirming. Maybe you should try it sometime," Flack said, rage boiling over. He had never spoken to his father like this before. Even as a teenager he had found other ways of dealing with his annoyance with the man. Slamming door, stomping off and playing hockey had all scored highly. But now he was frustrated. He was well aware that his father knew something that could shed evidence on what had happened, evidence that could stop it.

"I'm sorry, son. I really don't know anything."

Flack felt something snap inside. "How can you call me your son then tell me lies that could end up getting me and other people killed? That's not what a father does. You're meant to protect me. So for fuck's sake, tell me what you know and you might see your son again."

"I am protecting you," the voice said.

"Bullshit."

"You don't understand, Donny."

"Then make me understand. 'Cause at the moment all I understand is that you're a liar and potentially a murderer. It wasn't just me that got hurt by the car bomb, Detective Angell was there too, and if she had been much nearer…" he stopped. He was trying not to think about that particular 'what if'.

He heard his father sigh. "The murder of the women – you're on it aren't you?"

"Nice change of subject, Dad. You going to congratulate me on my detective skills?" his tone was becoming bitter.

"The case where the perp shaves the girls' hair."

"Yeah, nasty piece of work. We think there might be a link between that and whoever it is you're trying to protect," Flack said. He watched the door as it opened and Angell came in, standing at the back of the room, holding a cup of coffee in her nonchalant way.

"The only person I'm protecting is you," his father said. "I received something couriered to me two nights ago. A shoe box filled with dark brown hair. I know I should have reported it to you then, but we weren't sure what to do."

"For…" he stopped before the expletive came out. "Are you trying to get yourself arrested?"

"No. I'm coming over, without your mother and bringing the box. She doesn't know about what's happened to you, and she's not to find out, understood?"

"I'm sorry, Dad, but I don't think you're the one to give orders anymore. Why don't you stay there and I'll send a car to get you?" he said; any last scrap of respect gone.

"Not going to happen. I'll be with you before evening. Say nothing about the hair or where it's coming from. As far as the person who has sent it is concerned, you know nothing," Flack Senior said.

Flack heard the change in tone of his father's voice. "I could lose my job over this."

"You won't. And if you keep quiet until I can get there and speak to your captain, you won't lose your life either. I'm not playing games, Donny. Pretend you have never had this conversation with me," he said.

"I need to know about this case, Dad. About Matthew Harper," Flack said.

"There's nothing to know."

"You mean there's nothing you can tell," Flack said, standing up in frustration. "There's an obvious link. You are in possession of evidence from a current case which is proving to have connections with one of your cases from nineteen years ago, and you say you know nothing?"

"I'll see you later." The line went dead and Flack banged his cell onto the table. Angell's eyes held concern. Her presence softened him, quietening his temper. She smiled at him slightly, not needing to ask him anything about the conversation he had just had, not giving any pressure, just an acceptance. He met her eyes, feeling that spark which seemed to have increased since last night and the morning instead of diminishing.

"I need to speak to Glass," Flack said. "My father the hero is clearly up to his eyes in shit."

Angell nodded. "Glass needs to see us both now anyway," she said. "It looks like we're about to play ball."

_Please review. I accept anonymous reviews, so even if you don't have a fanfiction account you can still tell me what you think!_


	13. Chapter 13 Tangled Webs

_Thank you to those who reviewed the last chapter as always. It does make writing it worthwhile! Thank you to Sonnet Lacewing for beta-ing and reviewing!_

_Usual disclaimer applies._

Chapter Thirteen – Tangled Webs

The office was bare of any personal objects; no photographs, no children's drawings, no spare ties. If his name hadn't have been on the door, it could have just been a spare room for storing files. Captain Glass sat behind the desk, a file laid out in front of him, chewing the top of a pen. Flack knew that pen chewing was his regular habit, having seen him once with an inked tongue and a sour look on his face. He recalled from school that ink didn't taste too good.

"Your father's on his way," Glass repeated. "With evidence."

Flack nodded, unsure of what to say.

"And it has taken this long to inform us about this shoe box filled with hair because?"

"I have no idea, sir. Apart from the fact that my father has something to hide," Flack said, wondering how he'd ever been placed in this predicament.

Glass nodded; his expression thoughtful. "I suggest I speak with him, Detective Flack, if there is something, he may be more agreeable to telling me than you."

"I agree, sir. My father is behaving very uncharacteristically. When he was a detective here, he did everything by the book."

Glass looked down at the file in front of him. "We now have a link between him and the Etchells cases. Either we have a massive leak here, or somehow part of your father's past is coming back to haunt him. His career is unblemished, Don. The one sketchy area is his handling of the Harper case in '78. He was lead detective, yet it was Andy Halmann who reigned on it. The main interviews, the questioning of suspects… Your father apparently took a back seat, which is the reverse of how he handled other cases. So the question is why. What exactly want on in the Harper investigation, because that's where the black hole is," Glass bit the biro in his hand hard until it cracked. Flack figured that ink on the tongue was a regular occurrence. "The trouble is, apart from your dad and Halmann; we have no one else to ask about the case. Their captain died just before the case finished at trial. Really, Halmann should have been disciplined because of the mess that was made, but the precinct was in such a state at that point in time it nothing was done."

"What about bringing Detective Angell's father over?" Flack said. "He was around during that time."

Glass shook his head. "He wasn't involved with the case, per se. I can't bring him in just like that. Angell can certainly speak to him more, but at the moment I'm trying to play down the connection."

"So you admit that there is a connection?" Flack said, feeling his chest tighten. He knew that there was, of course, but Glass saying it made it all seem so real. A little part of his sky came crashing down; he had regarded his father with semi-hero status with regard to his career.

"I am. What I'm not saying is that your father has committed a crime or done anything wrong. Going by his record something must have been happening for him to let Halmann take lead in interviews, or even do them alone," Glass said. "I need to know what that is."

"Are we going to reopen the Harper case?" Flack said, seeing where this was leading.

Glass nodded. "I'm passing it on to Detectives Messer and Monroe to examine. They are already aware of what's been happening and current theories, and I don't wish the whole of the station to know what's going on."

"Leaks," Flack said. "Halmann."

"He lurks around the station. I know some ex-cops cannot leave the job, but Halmann's presence has been more apparent in the past two months. This has coincided with Harper beginning the process of applying for parole," Glass pulled another file from under the one he had been looking at.

"Dad knows something that will stop Harper from getting parole," Flack said. "That's why Harper's been ordering someone to try and blow me up."

"But he's not succeeded," Glass said, closing both files.

"And that was planned," Flack said. "I was never meant to be hurt by the explosives in the apartment because they knew that I would leave the CSI's to search it. The bomb in the car was not made to be powerful enough to kill me. It wasn't just luck."

Glass stared at him. "I think you're exactly where you're meant to be. And that's why I don't think it's worth letting them see you and Angell back in her apartment. They will expect us to do that."

"Halmann," Flack said.

"It's conjecture. What concerns me is that your father is on his way over here, and the moment Halmann finds that out, Harper will assume no warnings have been heeded. He will have nothing to loose," Glass said.

"And little way of being directly tied to it. If it is the Etchells brothers carrying out the attacks then a court will conclude that it's because of my connection with their cases," Flack said. "I'm not happy about my father coming here."

Glass nodded. "We need the evidence, but not delivered here. I'll meet him myself and speak with him away from Manhattan."

"Don't count on him letting you in on anything," Flack said.

"Don, the man is human. He does not want you harmed," Glass said, standing up in dismissal of Flack.

"No disrespect, sir, but you don't know him."

"No disrespect to you, Detective Flack, but you don't have children," he left the air silent for a second. "Take these files to Messer. As far as the rest of the station is concerned you've reopened the Sisal case." He referred to the unsolved murder of Jamie-Leigh Sisal, a ten-year-old boy found dead in the basement of a restaurant five months ago. There had been no leads and no evidence. To all appearances, the murder had been committed by a ghost.

"Shall I contact my father?" Flack said; standing and taking the files.

Glass shook his head. "No. Leave that to me."

Flack nodded and left, wondering why there was no evidence of Glass' children, if he was right in assuming that he had them from his comment. He made his way up to the room where he guessed Danny and Lindsay would be, his mind reeling over the can of worms they had opened. They had made links, but without evidence they were worthless. And if Harper was behind all of this then they were going to have to be damned clever to prove it.

-&-

Stella sat in a small office tucked away at the end of the corridor where the private rooms were which inmates used for counselling. Next door to her were Matthew Harper and Monty Jones, using up every second left of their hour consultation. The prison guard who she and Mac had spoken to previously had called them ninety minutes ago to let them know that Jones had scheduled an appointment with Harper. Now he was sat in there with no gloves on and a cup of coffee. And Stella was playing a waiting game, for the moment Harper and Jones were away she would be in the room to tidy away that cup. She just hoped he was thirsty.

A bang sounded on next door, and Stella heard the guard shout that time was now up. She waited, needing to hear their footsteps disappear before she could go inside the room and bag the cup. Eventually they did, laughter sounded with them. From what Stella knew, not many people left counselling sessions laughing.

Stella left her seat and opened the door, no one in sight. She slipped into the room they had been using and began to scan it for evidence. The cup was empty on the table. She bagged it using a gloved hand, noticing a short hair on the wooden table. She took that too. Painstakingly, she began to comb the small space, placing everything she found in envelopes, labelling and dating them.

Her next job, once finished, was to retrieve the recordings from the security cameras and secure a still of Monty Jones. The name was an incredibly common one, 342 people in New York owning it, more having the non-shortened version. A visual of him would assist in identifying him. DNA or a match from his prints would be even better. She spied round the room once more, and then something else caught her eye. Just near the door, a long, dark hair. She felt rewarded after the long sit in the room next door. Sometimes it paid to be patient.

--

The humidity had dried to a blistering heat, and nowhere seemed to capture it more than inside a tin can of a car. Glass wiped sweat from his brow and cursed. He didn't do hot, being from where it was much colder, never rising to this heights. Occasionally he missed it, missed the weather and people, especially on days like this when even cacti would perspire.

Glass pulled up at a diner and got out of the car, noticing with some disappointment that it was no cooler outside. He could feel his sweat glands working overtime and he debated going inside to get some water. He checked his weapon, holstered at his side. Not that he expected any problems. When they had spoken on the phone, Flack senior had been most polite. Evasive, but polite.

Ten past midday arrived and there was still no sign. Glass' watch seemed to tick slower in the heat and once it said quarter to Glass began to smell a rat. The retired detective looked like a no-show and there would be multiple reasons for it. He strode into the diner and sat down away from any glare of the sun. Surprisingly, the place had air conditioning and was empty of too many patrons, perfect for what he required, should Flack Senior turn up.

He ordered an iced tea, something that was unheard of in his home town where tea came hot and brewed strong. He sipped at it, the taste still surprising him. One-ten and no sign. He contemplated leaving, knowing that there were countless things he needed to do, and wild goose chases were not one of them. As he drained the last of his drink a car pulled up next to his and a tall, broad shouldered man stepped out, his hair grey and chin stubborn.

Glass sat back down and checked his weapon. It was still there, a comfort of old. The door opened and Flack Sr entered, catching Glass' eye immediately.

"I took a detour," Flack Sr said, shaking Glass' hand. "Just in case."

Glass nodded, staying quiet. He spoke when he needed to. Silence made people uncomfortable. Then they spoke, wanting to get rid of it. And that was when they let things slip. But Flack Sr would know this game, had probably played it himself. Still, it was nice to see that it had some effect.

"The shoebox and its contents are in the trunk of my car," Flack Sr said. "Do you need me to come down the station?"

Glass shook his head. "I don't want you anywhere near my station or my men, and that includes your son. Got it?" he could tell that Flack Sr was not used to being spoken to like this. "I need to know why this is happening. You've got one chance to tell me."

Flack Sr nodded, getting the point easily. At the moment he was guilty of obstructing the course of justice, Glass would reach out only if Flack Sr would give him what he needed. "What do you want me to say?"

"Tell me about the Harper case."

"I don't know anything."

"That's shit, Flack and you know it," Glass said, his voice low.

Flack Sr nodded. "My son can't know."

"I can't make any promises."

"Then I can't tell."

"Don't tell, and you won't have a son to keep things from."

There was silence.

"Harper wants parole. He knows if I speak out, he'll be refused. His friends outside will also end up in the shit. Harper's case was botched on purpose. Evidence was destroyed – you probably already know that."

"I do," Glass said.

"It was the one case I screwed up on. The only positive side was that the guy who did it did get sent down, but not for everything. And others got away too. But at that time, I wasn't left with any choice – just bad decisions."

Glass sat back. He had many roles; good cop, bad cop, good parent, bad parent, boss, friend, lover. But for now he was none of those; he was a priest.

_Please review!_


	14. Chapter 14 Through & Through, & Thorough

_Thank you for the reviews last chapter!_

_Usual disclaimer applies_

Chapter Fourteen – Through and Through, and Thorough

Angell looked at the computer screen, a man's face smiling from it and one that looked vaguely familiar. She could see Stella watching her reaction, which as usual, gave nothing away. She took a step back and nodded. "This is the man who was following me," Angell said.

"It's also Monty Jones," Stella said, raising her eyebrows as if to invite questions. "The DNA I took from the cup got a match. However, his name isn't Monty Jones."

"Casey Truro, AKA Casey Halmann," Angell read as Stella clicked on an icon, bringing up the face's personal details. "Previous includes assault and possession with intent to supply, and interestingly, he was accused of sex with a minor, but charges were dropped. He's also Andy Halmann's nephew. Thomas Halmann's son."

"The same Thomas Halmann whom Andy Halmann falsified evidence for in 1981, nearly costing him his job. We have a clear link between Halmann and Harper," Stella said, looking sweetly victorious.

"Any address for Casey Truro?" Angell said.

Stella shook her head. "No fixed address. Last known whereabouts was just out of state, and that was three years ago."

"Anything more on Monty Jones?" Angell said. It seemed that every step forward took them on another problem-strewn path, deviating further from a quick arrest.

"Monty Jones signed into Attica this morning with his name and the name of the company he works for. Changes Counselling – a company which offers counselling in the privacy and comfort of your own home, or at their luxury offices. He started there two and a half years ago," Stella passed Angell a piece of paper with the address written on it. "One of the owners received a parking ticket two weeks ago which they still haven't paid."

Angell nodded. "You up for a ride?"

"As long as you don't need as many food stops as Flack."

The drive should have been fifteen minutes away, but a car accident held them up, leaving them unable to turn around or change route. Angell had only worked with Stella a handful of times, and although she had a lot of respect for Stella's abilities, she knew little about her personally. Stella had lived in foster homes, she knew that, and had had a rough deal with a past boyfriend, but the too had never needed to have a conversation about anything other than work.

"How're things with Flack?" Stella said, rather abruptly.

Angell nodded. It was the first time she had been asked seriously about her relationship with Flack. There had been jibes and jokes from other officers, but nothing serious, and as of yet, she hadn't discussed it with any girlfriends. "Good, I think. We seem to…" she searched for the words.

"Have chemistry?" Stella suggested. "I haven't seen Flack act with any of his previous girlfriends like he acts around you. And that was before any of this happened." Cars beeped their horns angrily in front of them. At the moment, there was nowhere for them to go, the road was clogged.

"We get along well," Angell said simply. "We've been friends for a few months." She wasn't sure how much she wanted to discuss this with Stella, not knowing her that well.

"I'm not looking for gossip," Stella said, as if reading her thoughts. "I've known Flack a long time – we've been friends as well as colleagues, and since you have been going out he's seemed a little fuller of the joys of spring. It's been good to see."

Angell couldn't help but feel pleased at the comment, her cheeks growing warmer. "It's strange," she said. "He's not my usual type."

Stella nodded. "You're not his. Flack usually goes for the pretty, arty girls, ones he doesn't have much in common with past the initial interest. Either they get fed up with his job, or it just fizzles out. But with you, you're pretty and you do have things in common. And you're smart. He's being kept on his toes."

"It's been a matter of days, Stella," Angell said. It wasn't her nature to get ahead of herself.

Stella shook her head. "Nothing physical may have happened, but you've been going for drinks after work for a few months, and it's been obvious to everyone else that you like each other, and that its more substantial than just a physical attraction."

Angell shrugged, not really knowing what to say. "I've liked him as I've gotten to know him. Like I said, he's nothing like any ex-boyfriend."

"Which is good, because ex-boyfriends are not what you want to repeat," Stella said, winding down the window. "How long?" she said to one of the men preparing to move the two damaged vehicles.

"Another couple of minutes," he said. "Shouldn't be long." He nodded at them and walked away.

"If they actually tried a pace other than slow, we could have been at the offices ten minutes ago," Stella complained.

"For some people it's their only speed," Angell said, finally moving the car out of park and slowly moving away.

It took them five minutes to drive to the building where Changes Counselling was located. Angell pressed a bell, but no answer came. She tried again, with no response.

"I don't like this," Stella said. "This time is down as office hours on their website. There should be someone here." She approached the building manager's office and knocked on her door which was half open, holding up her ID. "Detective Bonasera, NYPD and this is Detective Angell. Can you let me into Changes Counselling?"

The building manager looked up from her computer. "Why? What's wrong?"

"No answer," Stella said. "We're investigating a murder inquiry and need to access the offices."

"There's been no one going in there for about two weeks," the building manager said. "I figured they had taken vacations at the same time. A woman did turn up for an appointment with her son, but there was no one there. She said she'd probably gotten her dates mixed up." The manager got to her feet and pulled a set of keys from a hook on the wall.

"How many people usually work there?" Angell said, taking in the tidy room.

"Just the three now. Mr Jones, Mr Belshaw and Mrs Rathmill. Mr Belshaw started the business about five years ago. Mr Jones joined a couple of years back and shortly after that Mr Williams left," she looked wide eyed as she stepped out of her office. "My name's Jen," she said. "My father owns the building and I manage it for him. We've always been picky about who rents here." They followed her up in the elevator to the fourth floor.

"Have no cleaning staff been in since they went on vacation?" Angell asked.

Jen shook her head. "Not as far as I know. We hire cleaners to do all of the offices. Changes decided that the janitors were too intrusive, accusing one of them of looking through confidential files, so they've maintained their own offices. The last time I was in there they were immaculate." She unlocked the door and pushed it open; the three women taking a step back as soon as the door opened. The odour was strong.

Angell breathed in, inhaling the almost sweet stench. She looked at Stella. "Jen," she said. "I think you should wait outside." Jen nodded, stepping back. Five doors led into rooms, the names of the different counsellors on four of them. Angell pulled her gun from her holster, pointing it in front of her as she pushed open the doors from the reception area. Stella, her own weapon alert, stood at the opposite side. All rooms were empty of people; one of the desks was strewn with paper, something that would need checking later. The last room was clearly designed for therapy. The furniture was white and new, the floors wooden, a large expensive looking rug covering most of it. The pictures on the walls were of beaches and forests, sea scenes, all designed to provide a relaxing experience. At one side was a desk, equipped with pens and crayons. A dresser stood next to it without ornaments, but Angell could guess that toys were inside.

In the middle of the rug was a white chaise lounge, its style modern but expensive. On it sat the body of a man in his mid-fifties, a pool of dried red blood soaking into the material around him.

"I'll call it in," Angell said. "I think we can assume that there's a good reason Mr Belshaw hasn't paid his parking ticket."

-&-

Mac looked at the scene in front of him, at the same time listening to Stella filling him in on the background of John Belshaw.

"Is Glass on his way?" Stella asked.

Mac looked at her, pausing his visual analysis of the crime scene. "He's meeting Flack's dad." He let the question pass, although his expression would have told her he was curious about her question. "Monty Jones was about to have been discovered." He walked up to the body, experienced eyes assessing the damage caused without emotion. "He's been dead for over a week."

"The office manager says these rooms haven't been used for two weeks," Angell said, standing at the periphery of the group of people that had now amassed.

Mac nodded. "That would fit. Sid will give us a more accurate TOD of course. Gunshot wound to the chest. Let's hope there's a traceable bullet in there." He walked round to the back of the chaise lounge and shook his head.

Stella raised her eyebrows at him and gave him her knowing smile.

"You already know that there's no bullet," he said. "Through and through. Casey has clearly spent sometime inside." He stood aside from the body as Sid Hammerback entered the room, his glasses already on and his face tanned from enjoying two weeks away from the morgue.

"I might be able to get away early after all. Jet lag is terrible, you know," Sid said, bending down. "Though every time I say that I seem to end up sleeping in Hawkes' old bed," he paused. "Through and through. He hit the heart straight away, probably piercing one or more of the major arteries. It would have been a quick death." He looked up at Mac and then round the room. "I always hoped that my death would be slow and painless, so I got the chance to write my life story. No point in starting it until you have a good idea of how it's going to end. That's why I think so many of these young celebrities write their biographies: fear of death. When you're non-famous you have a good idea of what will kill you; old age, cancer. If you're famous the possibilities are endless, as has been proven so many times in the past."

Mac caught Stella's eye, unspoken communication. He glanced over where Angell stood, her eyes showing her amusement. "Well this guy didn't know what was going to happen to him. I somehow doubt that he suspected one of his employees would shoot him."

"Perhaps not," Angell said. They turned to her, except for Sid who continued with his initial examination before having the body moved to the morgue. "The desk that's been disturbed was Belshaw's. Mixed in with his papers was a newspaper article on the sentencing of Casey Truro, printed from the internet. There are also the certificates Casey would have used to prove his qualifications, all under the name Monty Jones. Even more intriguing is the eulogy for Monty Jones, also downloaded from the internet, and the police report on his death."

"Casey's cover had been blown. How did Monty Jones die?" Mac said. All of what was on the desk would need combing through. They were most likely dealing with patient's files that were of no relevance to the case, which would need sensitive handling and keen eyes.

"Gunshot wound to the chest. Through and through, no bullet at the scene," Sid said, pulling off his gloves. Angell stared at Sid. "Ishmael Montgomery Jones was my daughter's counsellor when she was in high school. I always remember the autopsies of people I've known. He was let go by the school after being accused of inappropriate behaviour with one of the students. Clearly, he went by a different name after the incident, as you would, I suppose. And I dare say that 'Monty' is preferable to Ishmael."

"What's your estimated TOD, Sid?" Mac said, unsurprised at Sid's information. He had stopped being surprised by Sid a while ago.

"I'd say no less than twelve days ago. The air conditioning has been on; if it hadn't, the smell would have made your office manager aware of it much earlier," Sid said, looking to one of his lab assistants. "He's ready to be moved."

--

Angell opened the door to the large room that Danny and Flack had taken over to review the Harper case files and evidence. They were sat on the floor, empty cans of cola and bottles of water dotted about. Neither noticed the door opening, both too engrossed in the conversation they were having. She stood and watched, unable to stop from grinning as their debate grew heated.

"Angell!" Danny said, finally noticing her. "Come sit down and see what you think about this."

Flack stood up, oblivious to what Danny had said. "How you doing?" he said, stepping across piles of paper to close the space between them. His eyes were full of a mixture of concern and electricity, and for a second, Danny wasn't in the room. She smiled at Flack, and he grinned back, almost shyly.

"I'm fine. You hear what we found at Monty Jones' office?" she said.

Flack nodded. "Any known associates that might help us trace him?"

"None. Since 2005 he hasn't existed. Stella and Mac are going through the evidence from the real Monty Jones' murder. Turns out that Ishmael Montgomery Jones worked in the school Sid's daughter went to. Allegations were made about him and one of the older students getting involved and he was asked to leave. He dropped the Ishmael and began working at a halfway house; the same halfway house that Casey Truro went to once he'd finished his sentence for assault. Three weeks later he was found dead. A through and through – Sid did the PM. No arrest was made. No suspects or evidence. Casey Truro continued at the halfway house until getting a full time job as a mechanic four months after Jones' murder. He never showed up for his first day at work. I've spent about an hour on the phone to his old parole officer who was telling me about what a model prisoner he had been," Angell said, sitting down next to a stack of folders. "How's your origami session?"

Danny nodded; a disgruntled look on his face. "The case was well and truly screwed up. Harper was done for the murders of four eighteen or nineteen year old men who worked for him as prostitutes. We are missing witness statements from other boys who worked for him, although there is a log of statements collected, but of course, nothing tallies. Anyway, after trailing through four boxes of notes, we find Flack's dad's original notebook, slipped under one of the cardboard flaps at the bottom. Harper was not just suspected of murdering the boys. He was suspected of torture and of paedophilia. But there's no evidence and nothing more is mentioned."

"That's not unusual. You may know a suspect has committed more than one crime, but if you've only strong enough evidence for one, you drop the others less they jeopardise the trial," Angell said.

Flack looked at Angell, his face warped with an emotion she didn't recognise. "We don't think there was a lack of evidence. We think it was disposed of. Harper was sent down with the possibility of parole. Everybody else who was suspected to be involved was cleared without charge, to the extent where it wasn't even kept on record."

"So who else was suspected to be involved?" Angell said, knowing the answer already.

"Tommy Halmann," Danny said. "I pulled out another case file from '76. Tommy Halmann and Matthew Harper were both suspected of the assault of a young male, Roy Vincenski. Charges were dropped. In Flack's dad's notebook, Tommy Halmann's name comes up three times. Once when Anthony Baliano's name is mentioned – he was the second victim. Tommy housed Anthony for a few weeks in his apartment. And twice just circled."

"So basically my father knows what was going on. He made sure Harper was sent down, but let everything else get screwed up," Flack said, a note of bitterness in his voice.

Danny shook his head. "And we all know that he was being threatened. Your dad was a good cop. He's made a mistake, but there will be reasons for it. What kind of threat would have made him keep his mouth shut?"

"His family," Flack said. "If they threatened to do something to us."

"But surely he would have had you put into protective custody? It's more than that," Angell said. "My father was threatened that if he didn't let someone out without charge, their brother would come after me and feed me to the fishes after making sure I was unrecognisable. My father ignored them, and had me, mom and the boys disappear for a few days to the back end of nowhere. We had a great time. I learnt how to skim stones and make apple pie beds."

Flack shrugged, looking puzzled at the last thing she had said. "Then they had something on him. And I haven't a clue what."

"Maybe Glass will come back with more info," Danny said, standing up. "I'm off anyhow. My shift ended two hours ago and I got some place to go."

Angell watched as Flack gave him a seriously peed off look. She understood. He had a date with Lindsay.

"Dating her again is not how to make it up to her that you are not in love with her," Angell said.

Danny looked rapidly between her and Flack. "Does sleeping together mean you become telepathic now or something?" He was glared at from both sides.

"You go, Messer. I'll lock up here," Flack said.

Danny nodded. "I'll see you in the morning, bright and early. We got some people to see, if they're not dead." He picked up his jacket from the back of a chair and made his way out of the room. "Enjoy your evening. Take care of him, Jess."

She nodded, listening for the click of the door as it closed, leaving her and Flack alone for the first time in hours. They made eye contact, then both looked away, smiling, a little bit of awkwardness hanging between them. The room felt smaller, and she enjoyed the sensation of being touched by his presence, feeling as if she had been wrapped in an adrenaline inducing sheet.

"Do you need me to take care of you, Flack?" she said, finding her bite.

He raised his eyebrows. "Are you getting your game out on me?" he said, mocking her.

She stepped closer; avoiding the files which she assumed had been strategically placed. "I don't have a game," she said.

He laughed, a genuine chuckle. "Jessica Angell. Even your own father warned me about you."

"Really?" she said, the atmosphere popped.

"He said you were manipulative, a flirt and wrapped people round your little finger when it suited you," Flack said, tilting his head to one side as he spoke.

She nodded. "I see," her eyes were dark and fierce, matching the playful blue in his. "So, even knowing this information, you still slept in my bed last night."

"I didn't just sleep in it, Jessie," he said, and something was sent through her blood stream which made her legs almost buckle. There was something safely dangerous about him which made her want to scream his name as well as hold his hand.

"I don't think you need any looking after, Don Flack," she said, softly poking him in the ribs. He caught her hand and pulled it up to his lip, kissing it. Her fingers moved across his lips, the room becoming thick with the tension between them. She touched his face, following its contours then softly grabbing his hair. He bent down to kiss her, and she closed the space between them, her hand pulling at his tie, forcing the kiss to become deeper. He held back, tormenting her, and she wondered how much longer she could stand up for without her legs collapsing.

The door opened and a cough sounded. The kiss broke and Flack and Angell turned to the doorway, seeing Stella stood there. "I came to check that the room was locked up," she said. "And to make sure that you had gone to your hotel, which you clearly need to do."

Angell saw Flack smile and felt his arm still at her waist. He hadn't let go. "We're on our way," he said. "And Stell?"

"Don?"

"You know the three monkeys, right?"

Stella laughed. "In this case there's one monkey with the surname of Messer who asked for feedback on what I found. He figured you might take a while getting out of here."

Flack nodded as if everything made sense. "We're on our way to the next hotel," he said, following Stella out of the room and locking the door with a code.

She smiled broadly. "Have a good evening and I'll see you tomorrow."

-&-

Outside, the moon shone full and bright, the sounds of the city at night resonating through the cooler air. Flack walked beside her, both of them quiet with the interrupted electricity between them. She knew that they didn't need to touch to feel each other's presence. It was good having him there, and she knew that she wanted him to be around, and couldn't see him not being. But somewhere, etched deep within her insides, she felt a nagging sense of dread that even the pleasant warmth of the night just couldn't shake off. She shivered, her hand reaching for his as they approached their hotel.

_weiver x_


	15. Chapter 15 Sweetly, Sings the Morning

_Thank you to all those who have reviewed so far. The reviews for this story have been the best and most detailed I have received. They are great help, because they have given me an idea of what things work - so thank you to all those who have taken time to comment, sometimes at length! I send you each your very own Flack!_

_Thank you again to my busy beta - this one's for you!_

_Usual... oh you know the drill!_

Chapter Fifteen – Sweetly, Sings the Morning Bird

The woman across the table from her was pale and wan, her hair unwashed and greasy and her skin free of make up allowing the dark circles around her eyes to take over her face. In contrast, her clothes were immaculate; pinstripe trousers and a neatly pressed cream shirt, the short sleeves showing off toned arms. Angell watched as the woman looked up nervously from her cup of coffee, her eyes darting to look at the epicentre of any strange sound.

"Mrs Rathmill," Angell said for the second time, trying to will the woman to focus and explain the source of her distress. "We are not accusing you of doing anything wrong, but I need you to answer some questions."

"Call me Nicola," the woman said, clutching the half-filled coffee cup. "I don't know if I can help you. I don't even know why I'm here, really."

Angell watched Nicola's hand fidget with her hair, her eyes shifting from Angell's. She was lying; subtle movements and tones gave her away. She was also scared.

"Why haven't you been into work for the past fortnight?" Angell said, her tone soft and concerned. "Were you intending to go back this week?"

Nicola was silent. She shrugged.

"Have you been on vacation somewhere?" Angell asked. "I know you have a difficult job – sometimes we all need a break." There was still no response. "Mrs Rathmill, I believe that you have been threatened by one of the men you work with and that's why you are refusing to answer me." Her tone changed to firm and authoritative. "We can protect you."

The woman looked at her, her eyes ablaze. "How can you protect me? You have no idea," she stood up. "I don't have to be here. You have nothing on me."

Angell let her stand up and head to the door. "Blackmail is a crime, Mrs Rathmill. It doesn't have to be a physical threat to be illegal."

Nicola stopped and turned around, her eyes glazed with tears. Angell could see that she was at breaking point, the stress of something tying her down and holding her there. "If I tell you anything, my marriage will be over," she said. "He will tell my husband."

Angell studied her, her face painted with shame and embarrassment. "You know that Monty Jones has murdered your business partner." Angell watched as Nicola's legs seemed to give way, collapsing down to the floor. She got up, next to her within a split second, and coaxed the older woman up and back to the chair, pouring her a glass of water from a jug.

"I didn't know," Nicola said, tears trailing furiously down her cheeks. "I didn't think he was capable of that."

"Were you aware that Monty Jones was an alias?" Angell said, knowing that she had broken through the woman's silence, information now being released.

Nicola nodded. "Belshaw received complaints from the parents of a young boy, accusing Monty of being inappropriate with him – all unfounded of course, the parents were simply wanting a pay off. He researched him online, and found out that the Monty Jones with all of these qualifications in counselling and psychology had been murdered. He said he was going to confront him." She began to sob, and Angell let her, knowing that she had been approaching this point for days.

"What did Monty Jones say to you to stop you going into work?" she asked when the sobs subsided.

"He came round to my house – something we'd agreed would never happen, and told me if I went back into work until he said it was okay he'd tell my husband about our affair," she said, a slight laugh at the end. "You don't look shocked, Detective Angell. Very few people can manage that. I'd be shocked if someone told me they'd been sleeping with a man thirty years younger than them."

Angell sat back, giving no reaction. She was aware that Casey Truro had played the woman, probably as insurance, insurance that he now needed. "When did your affair start?"

The tears had stopped now. The grim reality for Nicola Rathmill was clear before her tearless eyes. "About three months ago. It ended three weeks ago. My husband is a minister, Detective. You can imagine what it would do to his career and my marriage should he find out about this, or anyone find out about this."

"It may not need to be made public," Angell said. "I suggest that when you leave here, you carry on as normally as you can, given the fact that Mr Belshaw has been murdered. You will need to sort out your business and deal with yours and Belshaw's patients. It will not be strange for you to be here."

Nicola nodded. Angell watched her, noting her slightest movement. Her eyes were cold, and emotion that had been there had gone, cried out with the tears. It may have been part of her reaction, but Angell was sure she could see wheels turning in her mind. "I need some information from you about Monty Jones," she said. "Do you have any contact numbers for him, or any idea of where we might be able to locate him? It's in your best interest for us to get to him quickly."

Angell saw cold blue eyes glare at her, and she knew then that her instincts were correct. "I have no contact numbers for him. There is his work email address which we used to arrange meetings, or if I needed to contact him about a patient. Monty doesn't have a cell phone. He disliked them."

"What about a number for where he lived?" Angell said, knowing the form her answer would take.

"He just moved. There had been a fire in his apartment block and he was staying with a friend. Where he had moved to didn't have a phone installed yet," Nicola stood up. "If I can help you with anything else, Detective, then please let me know. I must be going – as you can imagine I will have Belshaw's patients to deal with. Many of them will be inconsolable to know he's died."

"You must let us know if you have any more contact from Monty Jones, Mrs Rathmill," Angell said, walking with her to the door. "I imagine you will hear from him before he would inform your husband or parishioners. There will be things he needs now he's trying to escape arrest."

"I will let you know, Detective," she smoothed back her hair into the bun it had been loosely tied in, emphasizing striking bone structure and smooth skin. Without making further eye contact she left the room, heading towards the exit. Angell went back into the interview room, closing the door behind her and sat back down at the desk. She watched as the other entry to the room opened and Glass entered the room, having watched the interview from next door.

"I've put a tail on her," he said, sitting in the chair which Mrs Rathmill had vacated. "She will lead us straight to him. For her, this is a chance to resume their relationship."

"It's strange what some people will do and deal with just for the sake of…" she looked at Glass, who sat there poker faced and still. "He's murdered the man she's been in business with for fifteen years."

Glass nodded. "And now that business and its assets are hers. Belshaw had no family which was why he hadn't been reported missing. His work was his life. Casey picked well when he applied to them."

"What other information do we have on his career? He must have been able to actually do his job as he worked successfully for nearly three years at it," Angell said.

"We've very little at present. Mulligan is contacting some of his patients, including the boy who made the allegations. Hopefully we'll know more soon and potentially have him in custody before the end of the day. I'm pretty sure Mrs Rathmill will take us to him," Glass said.

A knock sounded at the door and Stella popped her head round into the room, looking directly at Glass. "We've something you'll want to see," she said.

Glass nodded, standing up. "Detective Angell, we need you to go through the papers in Belshaw's office. They've been taken to room eight."

She stood up, making her way past Stella who seemed to be waiting for Glass.

"I'll be along shortly," he said. "I just have a call to make."

--

Glass waited until he had heard both pairs of stilettos tap away down the corridor before flicking open his phone and searching for the number he required. He looked anxiously at his watch as he listened to the ringing, willing someone to answer quickly.

"Phillip Glass," he said, rather abruptly, he knew. "How is she?"

"Not good. We don't know how long. Should we be expecting you?" The voice was soft and sincere, making his eyes become red-rimmed. He stared at the white walls, painted recently, looking for answers that weren't there.

"No," he said. "I can't leave at present. Is she lucid?"

There was silence before the reply came. "She's out of any pain. We don't know if she's aware of what's going on around her."

He understood. The end was near. "How long?"

"Her parents are with her. If you wanted to try to get over here, they'll be happy to…" there was no smooth way to express it.

"No. They need to do it when it's right for them. She was their daughter. Please let me know when it's the end," he said, hearing the voice agree. He closed his phone, ending the call and making his way to the lab.

--

Stella was sat behind her desk, the box of brown hair next to her. Her eyes reprimanded him for keeping her waiting; maybe one day he would explain to her why, but now was not the time or the place.

"You've analysed the hair," he said, standing behind her. "I'm sorry for keeping you. I had an urgent phone call."

She shrugged, and he knew what she had found was important. "The hair in the shoe box is not from just one of our known victims," she said. "I've done rudimentary tests on a sample of the hairs, and have found hair from five different females so far. Four out of the five match samples we have from the Etchells' victims. So far there is one unidentified female. I'm going to extract the mitochondrial DNA to see if we can get a match on our database, but its going to take at least twenty-four hours as the hair follicle has to be soaked for twelve hours."

"We have another victim," Glass said. "What about the rest of the hair – are you going to analyse that too?"

Stella nodded. "Its a few hours work. I'll have to take each hair separately and examine it under the microscope using a scale cast. Anything that doesn't match the hair from our known victims I'll analyse chemically for a DNA profile. It isn't one hundred percent as it only shows the mDNA," she paused, watching his reactions. He knew she expected to have lost him by now, but she hadn't, and he could see the look of curious surprise on her face. He smiled knowingly. "I can tell you that the unknown had dark brown hair. The other hairs have been dyed to match."

"Someone's playing games," Glass said. "How were the hairs removed?"

"They appear to have been cut with a sharp pair of scissors. None of them have a root or any tissue attached, so someone's been careful," she said. "Where has this knowledge come from? Most detectives I've worked with run a mile at any squint talk."

"I'm not 'most detectives'," he said without a smile.

She held up a hand as if to apologise and Glass realised he'd been a little harsh. "I didn't mean to insult you, Captain Glass," she said.

He nodded. "I know. Let me know if you find anything else," he said, walking away, irritated by his own behaviour.

-&-

Flack knocked at the door, feeling the sun beat through his suit jacket and mentally cursing the shoulder support. He knew it was helping, but in this heat it seemed to add an extra layer of sweat.

"You and Angell get home alright last night?" Danny said from behind him as they waited for the door to be opened. They knew someone was in; the bathroom window was open and they had heard the shower running.

"We got to the hotel just fine, Messer," he was surprised Danny had lasted this long before asking about Jess and him.

"She helping you keep the weight off your shoulder?"

Flack closed his eyes before responding, trying not to smile. He was being provoked on purpose. Flack did not talk about what went on behind closed doors, having once been on the receiving end of such gossip after a short fling with a colleague after he had started as a cop. Danny, however, liked to talk; never in detail, but just enough information so you knew.

"One arm press-ups," Danny advised.

Flack tried not to choke as the door opened and Libby Halmann stood in front of him, a silky bathrobe pulled around her, short hair wet from the shower.

"Don Flack!" she said. "It's been a long time. You want to come in and have a coffee?"

He smiled broadly. Libby Halmann had been a first for many things. Including the first time he had been dumped. "Sorry, Libby, but this is business," he said, noticing Danny's reaction to her. Libby resembled her mother rather than her father - small and slim, with blonde hair cut to chin length and green eyes that had an innocence which contracted with the rest of her body. "I need you to come down to the station and answer a few questions."

Her expression changed as he suspected it would. Libby had gone to a convent school, but morals were one thing she hadn't learnt. Andy Halmann had spent many of his days up picking her up from various stations after one misdemeanour or another. He doubted her ways had changed; she had probably just become better at not getting caught.

"Why?" she said. "I haven't done anything, Don. Not this time," she widened her eyes, and another thought occurred to him why she hadn't had any convictions recently.

"I need information," he said. "Seeing as you and I go way back I thought I could count on you." He shot her his most flirtatious grin and took a step closer to her. "How about that coffee while we wait for you to get dressed?"

She smiled back, seeing straight through his game. "Coffee. And then the station. It's been two years since you were last here, Don, and that's how you make it up to me?" Okay, so there had been one or two remembrances since she had dumped him. They followed her into the small hallway and up the stairs into the apartment. Libby lived above a beautician's, where she also sometimes worked. The sometimes puzzled him as she was never short of much money, but then again he'd never wanted know where the rest of it came from.

"So who's your friend?" she called through the open door of her bedroom.

"I'm Detective Danny Messer," Danny said, his eyes taking in everything around him. Flack saw him pause as something caught his eye. A car magazine.

"You Louie's brother?" Libby said, returning in jeans and a tight t-shirt.

"Yeah. How do you know Louie?" Danny said, picking up the magazine.

"In passing mostly," she said vaguely, looking at the magazine.

"You done with this?" Danny said, holding it up. She nodded. "Mind if I take it? There's an article on the first DB5 I wouldn't mind reading."

She shrugged, opening her palms towards them. "Sure. One of my friends must have left it." Flack realised Danny had taken her in completely. "We heading to your place?" She looked straight at Flack and he wondered what she was reading in his expression.

"It's a long time since you said that," he said. As a cop he would get nothing from her. As an ex-lover she would open up, or so he hoped. She slipped into the back of the car, sitting behind him. He could smell her perfume, still familiar, and as he caught site of her in the rear view, he saw her looking towards the alley behind her apartment and wondered why they hadn't searched there before.

"You seeing anyone?" she said as they drove off.

"Sort of," Flack said. He did not want to have this conversation with her, yet it was inevitable. "You?"

"No. Split with someone a few weeks ago. She met someone else," it was said to shock, although he didn't doubt the truth of it. "You should introduce me to your girlfriend." Flack tried valiantly to not meet Danny's sideways glance.

"You seen your dad much lately?" he said, changing the subject.

"I see as much as I can help," Libby said, crossing her arms. "Is he the reason I'm coming down the station with you?"

Flack shook his head. "No. We had a few things to ask you about your cousin."

"What cousin?"

"Casey Truro."

"That scumbag? I don't know nothing about him."

Flack wondered if the double negative was her way of not lying. "We just need some ideas of where we could find him."

"And you're taking me down to the station to figure that out?" she said. She'd known all along what they were after, had probably been expecting their visit, most definitely expecting it to be him. He saw her smile knowingly at him in the mirror. He hadn't lied to Jess when he said he didn't have a game. Only his game was reserved for situations like this.

He smiled back.

_weiver x_


	16. Chapter 16 Written on the Body

_Thank you to everyone who has read this story! I've just passed 10,000 hits which is a milestone and a half Please, please review - there are lots reading, but only a very precious handful reviewing._

_Camilla - thank you for your reviews, I can't reply directly as they're anonymous. The sentence you picked up was awkwardly phrased and hence confusing - he took her in - fooled her - if that helps._

_Thank you to Sonnet Lacewing as always as beta-ing_

_The title has been pinched from my favourite novel by Jeanette Winterson._

_Usual disclaimer applies._

Chapter Sixteen – Written on the Body

Glass watched as Detective Flack stood up from his chair and leant over towards Libby Halmann, closing the distance between them. She had begun to talk, without realising it, handing over information as if they were simply catching up. Flack was good at interrogating, of that there was no question. It was a skill his father had been renowned for, and the similarities didn't end there.

He cast his mind back to the previous day and the confession that had lasted until near dusk. Thirty years of guilt had been told, thirty years of keeping secrets hidden for fear they would damage what he loved best, only to see his son become distant from him anyway. Flack senior had begun slowly, stiltedly, giving vague facts about the Harper case.

"It was never mine," he had said. "Halmann already knew all the players, and it did occur to me to question why. He told me to stay out of it."

"And did you?" Glass had prompted.

Flack senior had shaken his head. "No. I don't stay out of anything. Then he threatened me. I had to take a backseat and do the bare minimum needed to stop anyone from questioning what was going on."

"He knew something about you?" Glass had said, after the silence had fallen again.

Flack Senior had shrugged, then nodded. "It's been a secret for thirty two years. I have no intention of my wife or children finding out, even now."

Glass had looked out of the window, watching the sun's fire burn the asphalt with rapid intensity. From the corner of his eye his saw Flack Senior stirring his iced tea, his brow furrowed as he prepared to confess his sins. He let him think. Some things took time to say, to find the words.

"Halmann knew I was having an affair with another officer, and had been for two years," the words fell out. Donald Flack had looked disgusted with himself, his eyes glazed over.

Glass nodded. He didn't need to say anything. He waited, drinking the remainder of his fourth iced tea, and still finding the taste surprising.

"I need to tell Don myself," Flack Senior had said, after a few minutes had gone by. "We don't get on anymore."

"Our relationships with our children become more complex than we ever anticipate. They no longer need us as they grow older, it's us who need them to pay us back," Glass said, pushing away the empty glass.

"You have kids?" Flack Senior had said.

Glass had remained silent.

Now he was observing the man's son, weaving intricate traps with words, waiting for Truro's niece to let something go. Don Flack Jr was taller than his father and leaner. He also possessed a greater intelligence, and whether he knew it or not, understood people.

Flack sat back and laughed at the old story she had just recollected. "That was the summer when you broke your ankle," he said. Glass watched the woman's expression change.

"It was. You have some memory," she said, pausing a little, there was something she didn't want remembering, that was clear.

"I remember everything," Flack said, folding his arms. "I remember when you and I hooked up that summer. We had fun."

Libby Halmann smiled, looking relieved. "We did. That can't be resumed, you know."

Glass felt a change in the air around Detective Angell. She sat a little straighter, her interest piqued on a different level. He watched with curiosity out of the corner of his eye. Yes, he knew, of course, that she and Flack had started a relationship. He had nothing against that, as long as it didn't interfere with their jobs, and he didn't predict that would be a problem in the long term.

"I can't," Flack said.

"Because you're 'kind of seeing someone'," she said, clearly quoting him from earlier.

Flack shrugged. "Because I'm investigating your cousin, Lib. Conflict of interest."

"And what's my cousin supposedly done?" It was feigned ignorance, the arrogance that she was trying to pass off as flirting was a cover.

"Just a touch of murder," Flack said. "I was wondering you'd tell me where we could find him. Wouldn't want you to end up as an accessory."

"I have no idea, Detective," the last word was loaded with irony.

Flack nodded, seemingly believing her. "You see, Libby, I know that's not true. My friend Danny you met earlier, the one who likes cars. He's a dab hand with the old fingerprint dust – you remember that stuff? I do, I remember having mine checked once."

Her laughter was tense with worry. Flack had her.

"We lifted a fingerprint belonging to Casey from the car magazine you gave Danny. Funny that. The magazine only went on sale yesterday, so I'd say you've seen him recently," Flack said. "I don't hold grudges, Liberty, and I wouldn't want to see you end up in jail."

She leant forward. "I'm not telling you anything, Don Flack."

"I thought not," Flack said. "You never did have the balls for the truth." The remark was cutting, real malice in his tone. Libby remained silent, avoiding Flack's eyes. "I could have lost my place at the academy because of you but I didn't let that stop me from digging you out of the shit again. We were friends."

"Clearly we're not now," she said, snapping out of her guilt.

"Libby, my apartment has been bombed. My car has had explosives wired to it," he looked at her. "You know you want to help me on this."

"He's my cousin, Don."

"A cousin you didn't see till you were twenty two because he lived with his mom in Florida," Flack said. "I always thought you had some sense of loyalty. That even though you could be shallow and fickle, you would come through for those who would do the same for you. Who _have_ done the same for you."

She looked up at him through huge eyes. "This is emotional blackmail."

"This is keeping your ass out of jail."

I'll need somewhere to stay for a few days. Can I borrow your sofa?" Glass noticed Angell's eyes flash victoriously.

"I don't have an apartment anymore," Flack said. "It got bombed."

She nodded. "I'm sorry – I thought that was a lie."

"I don't lie. It was you who excelled at that," Flack said.

"You can find me some place to stay till I know they'll be no repercussions?"

"Yeah. That's no problem. But I need to know where to find Casey."

Libby looked round the room, waiting for answers. She had been cornered, Glass knew. There was no way out for her now. "He'll be staying with Mickey Davidoff. He works at Attica."

"Ex-cop," Flack said, confirming her facts. "That's how he's been cleared by security." He stood up. "You did the right thing."

"So when this is all over, do I get a date?" she said.

Flack laughed, tapping the door to be let out. "I told you. I have a girlfriend."

Glass turned to Angell and looked at her. There had been no pretence, no hiding of how he considered her, yet she looked almost pensive. "He did a good job in there," Glass said. "Knowing her gave him an advantage, of course, but still."

Angell nodded. "He did." She stood up, walking out of the small room they used to watch some interviews. He wondered whether he should follow her, but his cell began to vibrate.

-&-

Angell found Flack in the locker room, throwing water on his face. She stood near her locker, waiting for him to finish. She felt as though someone had put her in a mixer on full power and was not enjoying the sensation. To rid herself of it, she knew she had to confront it, which was not an easy prospect.

"Glass was impressed with your interview technique," she said once Flack had turned round, wiping his face with a towel. He began to unbutton his shirt, an action that made her feel even less sure of her self. He looked at her, and she wondered how obvious her thoughts were. "I don't do jealously, Don."

He threw the shirt down in front of his locker and began to remove the shoulder support. She felt unnerved by his silence. "Jess," he finally said. "If you had been interviewing one of your ex-boyfriends I wouldn't have watched. That's not a criticism of you, but I wouldn't have wanted to know any finer details or be made to think about someone else having you."

The hint of possession in his words affected her in a way she hadn't thought possible. She hated to be owned, hated the sense of claustrophobia it provoked. But this time it didn't feel stifling, instead she realised that it was almost extended fingers; that sense of being touched even when they were only feet away from each other was caused by this. "Maybe we shouldn't be doing this," she said, avoiding looking at him, not needing any further temptation. She would be wrong to say she didn't have doubts, although they were born from caution rather than anything concrete.

"Why -you got jealous because I used to have a pretty girlfriend? If you want the whole story, Jess, you can have it. Libby was a man eater. I was one of many, and she hurt me when I found out she'd been sleeping with a hockey friend as well. I was eighteen. Like a fool I provided her with an alibi after she'd broken into some house and stolen a purse and car keys and gone joy riding. The day after she ran off with a lad she'd met the night before and I realised that however pretty she was, she was never going to be any good for me," he rested against the lockers as she sat down on the bench in the middle of the room. "Jess, think about it. This is my job, and yours. How do you think I felt when you went out dressed as Marilyn Monroe to meet some assassin? Or when you came back into the station, making it sound like we were entering some godforsaken aviary? Face it; it wasn't me being whistled at!"

"That made you jealous?" she said, her stone face cracking into a smile.

He nodded, sitting down next to her. "And I know, it was just work. Like just now with Libby." He lifted one hand and tangled his fingers in her hair. The touch was intimate, almost possessive.

"That was nearly three months ago, Flack," she said, angling herself so she could see him. "We'd been out for drinks after work a few times but nothing like this."

He looked down, cheeks reddening. "I liked you though. I just wasn't happy about admitting it." He lifted his gaze and looked at her. "You're not used to being jealous, are you?"

She shook her head, his hand now at her waist. "Not something I care to succumb to. I was cross at myself for letting what we have personally get in the way of professionalism." She felt his fingers trail across the small of his back, and became acutely aware of his closeness and naked torso.

"If you want to stop this, you need to tell me now, Jessica Angell," he said. "Because I'm liking what's going on with us. A lot."

"You're not bothered about this?" she said. "About me coming in here when you're probably on a high from getting the information that you wanted?"

He looked at her puzzled. "Jessica," he said, the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile. "You don't do jealousy yet you were jealous of my ex? You're… you're… look at me – I'm doing a Danny, tripping over my words. I can only think of two men in this precinct who wouldn't wish to be in my shoes right now, and that's Glass and Mac, and hell, I can't even swear to that."

"You don't have any doubts about this?" she said, feeling sparks bounce between them. They hadn't subsided, only getting stronger. She had expected some of the lights to go out once they had slept together, but now she only wanted more. The thing between them, and it was a thing, was increasing in strength, and although the lack of control she had over it scared her, it was Flack she trusted to help make sense of it.

He nodded. "I know I don't get involved with colleagues. I did once – I expect you've heard about it," she nodded. "But it's something I would have wanted to steer clear of."

"So why get involved? Because it's like you say; if we want to stop it we need to say now," she said, trying to keep her hands to herself.

"Things aren't always black and white are they? And when I'm with you I guess the earth just moves a little slower," he looked at her intensely, and she knew his meaning perfectly. "And we're in the locker room at work, and the biggest worry we have about our relationship is being professional."

She waited for him to move away, following through on his words, but he didn't. He maintained eye contact, his face serious and she wished she could read his thoughts, but they were hidden by a mist that was for now, impenetrable. Then his face broke out into a smile.

"Your dad going to believe me when I tell him you were jealous?" he said.

"You assuming you going to meet my father and survive, Flack? He still carries a gun, you know. Shoots any boy who tries to take advantage of me," she said, pulling herself up. He stood with her, opening his locker to get out a clean shirt.

"Yeah, I would have thought he'd be sending me a sympathy card, having to put up with your jealously and all." He began to fasten a tie that clashed dreadfully with his clean shirt. Angell took a step back.

"No. You can't wear that with that," she said, prodding him.

The door to the locker room creaked open. "When you've finished powdering your nose, Flack, we've got an address for Mickey Davidoff," Glass said. "Detective Angell, you may want to come along. I assume you've gone through the papers from Belshaw's office?"

She nodded. "I've passed them onto forensics. There was nothing else in them that we didn't know already."

She followed Glass out of the locker room, Flack behind her, tying a less lurid tie. She still felt on edge; whether it was because of the case, which was becoming an albatross around their necks, or whether it was dealing with emotions she was unfamiliar with, she was unsure, but it would be interesting to see where both possibilities led.

_Please review, even if its just a few words letting me know what you think._


	17. Chapter 17 Rats

_Thank you for the reviews for the last chapter! It's so nice to receive comments. I really appreciate the time people take... (memo to self, I need to review more!)_

_I am organising a charity fashion show which takes place tomorrow night, so there may or may not be a chpater up tomorrow depending what time I get back. Obviously I won't have time to write tomorrow night either (raising money for Stockport Cats Protection instead), so if I post tomorrow, its doubtful I'll post Friday. I will definitely post Saturday though... I'm waffling now, aren't I..._

_Many thanks to Sonnet Lacewing who has beta-d this twice (or some parts three times). See author's note at the end._

_Usual disclaimer applies, although I am petitioning CBS if I can take Flack home to play with over the summer hiatus :)_

Chapter Seventeen – Rats

Shades of red had been mixed into the sky's blues with a child's fingers, blackened clouds hiding the moon as sunset almost ended. Flack sat in the car with Angell next to him, wishing that they could have just been alone and unoccupied, able to take in the New York sunset without having to continually watch Mickey Davidoff's apartment.

He clicked a button and addressed the rest of his men, currently stationed in various locations around the block, all waiting for the word to move closer to the apartment and arrest the suspect. There was currently one hitch: Mickey Davidoff's sister was there, with her three children, and Flack had no intentions of going in there while children were playing. Every angle of the building was being watched in the hope that, should Casey Truro try to make an escape, their suspect wouldn't get away unnoticed.

"They're on the move," Angell said, as the door to the sidewalk opened and a boy of around five tumbled out, an action man toy in his hand. "You have one of those when you were a kid?"

"What do you mean, when I was a kid? I still got them now!" Flack said. "Looks like we'll be on the move as soon as she's stopped yabbering."

The sister continued to talk to Davidoff, both totally unaware of the surveillance around them. "Please, take your kids and go home." He saw Angell smiling at his pleading. It had already been a long day, and the tiredness and stress of the last few days was catching up for them. The novelty of staying in different hotels had worn off by the second night, and he was longing for a familiar bed, or couch.

"She's gone," Angell said, unbuckling her seatbelt. Flack picked up his radio and issued final orders. He opened the car door and began to stride over the road to the apartment. He and Angell were heading in through the front, while Mulligan and another officer were waiting at the back exit. Glass had somehow managed to produce a blueprint of the place so everyone was aware of where the exits and potential weak spots were.

Flack banged on the door, hard. No answer. He tried again. "NYPD, open up!" he shouted, hearing banging from upstairs. It was a two bedroom apartment over an unused shop in a row of buildings that were planned to be demolished. Davidoff was one of the last three tenants, apparently refusing to move. If things worked well, then the building company could have one awkward tenant removed fairly quickly.

Flack tentatively put a hand on the handle of the door. Given that Davidoff's sister had just left, and he doubted there was much in the apartment to be security conscious about, he figured that the door might be unlocked; it was. He pushed the door open and walked into a small, short hallway, with wallpaper that was stained with cigarette smoke and peeling off the walls.

The stairs up to the rooms were steep, frayed carpet covering the wood. It was a potential fire hazard, and Flack wondered if that would be one way for Truro to exit. Fires were good distractions.

They moved slowly up the stairs, weapons ready, hearing nothing. Flack wondered how his men at the rear exit were doing, whether there had been an attempted escape that way, but concluded he would have heard something. He paused as he came to the top of the stairs; the doors to the five rooms were closed, no sign of any noise coming from them.

Footsteps sounded below him and Angell turned round. Two more of his men, back-up. If no sign had been given, he had instructed Chu and Romano to join them.

"Casey Truro and Mickey Davidoff, you need to drop any weapons and come out into the hall. We are armed and will shoot," he said, listening carefully for the response of noise. None came. He nodded to Angell, after repeating the order for a second time. Quietly, he pushed down the door handle to the room he knew was the master bedroom and pushed it open, the other officers covering him. He entered, scanning the room. It was small, containing a closet, a bed and one set of drawers with an ancient TV on top. The bed had drawers at the bottom, blocking a hiding place. Angell checked the closet; clear.

Like ghosts, they slipped back out onto the landing. Chu pointed in the direction of the living room, motioning to his ear. Sounds had come from there. The lounge contained the route to the fire escape, through the kitchen. A bad design in itself, Flack thought. He could feel his heart beating rapidly, not liking the fact that they were in such a small space. Although their suspects were cornered, and unlikely to flee successfully, too many bodies could lead to misfires and avoidable injuries.

He sided himself at the door, Angell opposite him. Again, he pressed down the handle, but this time the door did not swing open. It was locked, the handle disabled. He moved back swiftly, Angell copying his movements as gun shots were fired, two permeating the wooden door. Flack felt the adrenaline rush through his veins like a roller coaster, setting his senses on fire. He was wired to the max, enjoying the rush of the chase, knowing that the catch would be more satisfying than almost anything else. The suspects were panicking; shooting anywhere that seemed half useful. He crouched and waited. Davidoff and Truro would know that there were men at the bottom of the fire escape, that they were surrounded. Their best course of action would be to either take a hostage, something neither of them had been known to do previously, or injure as many as possible and run for it. Neither possibility sounded good. They had to get them first. Flack looked round and checked his team; they were good and he had confidence in them. All were determined to catch whoever had been having a go at one of their own.

"Disable your weapons and put them down on the ground," Flack ordered, hearing murmurs coming from the lounge. He wanted them to surrender, and felt he was giving them ample chance, but they weren't accepting it. The last thing he wanted was for him and his three officers to go in there and begin shooting.

Angell caught his attention, pointing at one of the doors to the bedroom which shared a wall with the lounge. She went up to it, and pushed down the door handle. The bedroom had been changed into a TV and gaming area, and Flack, if he was honest, was quite impressed with the set-up. At the bottom of the gaming room were French doors which led out onto the metal platform at the top of the fire escape. Flack imagined that some estate agent had once claimed it to be a balcony, but now it was rusting and probably unsafe, unable to bear more than two hundred or so pounds.

"They're unlocked," Angell mouthed, slowly pressing down on one of the handles. Flack nodded. If Chu and Romano kicked open the door into the lounge, Davidoff and Truro would more than likely take the chance of escaping down the metal steps, where he and Angell could apprehend and disarm them. He lifted his brows at her and she nodded, knowing the game plan without him explaining. Chu and Romano were looking down at them, waiting for instructions, still standing near the door. Flack gestured to them, passing on instructions. They nodded.

Flack waited another five minutes, Chu and Romano shifting their feet and talking quietly so that Truro and Davidoff would know they were still there. He raised his had to them, then walked the two paces along the fire escape, siding onto the door. Angell had managed to crawl to the other side of the steps, balancing herself on a very small ledge and crouching to keep out of sight through the widow. Flack heard the door come down and then footsteps, no gunshots. The kitchen door opened inward and he stood, grabbing Mickey Davidoff as he tried to run out.

"Casey! Go the other way!" Davidoff shouted, trying to shrug Flack off. Flack pushed him against the rusting rails, keeping a firm grip. He could see his officers emerging, climbing up the fire escape to assist. Truro still hadn't exited.

Flack passed Davidoff to two of his officers who had handcuffs at the ready and followed Angell back inside. The lounge was clear; there had been no sound of gun fire or calls. Casey Truro was still somewhere inside, waiting for the opportunity to somehow get past them. He had seen Romano shake his head, meaning he hadn't seen where Truro had headed.

"He was out of here before we got in," Chu said quietly. "He hasn't gone downstairs – we've got three men at the bottom."

Angell shook her head and pointed towards the ceiling. "He's gone up," she said. "There's an entrance to the attic from the kitchen closet. He's gone in there and pulled himself up."

Flack pulled open the door and looked up. The thin wooden board that closed the entrance to above the apartment was askew. Truro was somewhere up there. He put a foot on a shelf, hoping it would take some of his weight as he used it to give himself a push up. The closet was small, but empty of any food, except what looked to be old cans of beans – the manufacturers had since changed their logo.

"Stay down here," he said to Angell who had entered the closet. "We need men on every entrance. It won't have been difficult to have gone from the cavity above this apartment to next door. Get someone in each apartment underneath the loft access points." He pushed himself up, feeling the shelf give way and crash to the floor. His shoulder groaned under the strain of lifting himself and he knew he would be returning to the shoulder support that evening. If they ever got to evening.

Flack couldn't stand up, the roof was too low. He was aware of the wooden beams, using the light coming from the hole to judge how far apart they were. If his feet came off them he would risk going through the plaster board and falling through to the rooms below.

"There's no way for you to get out," he said in the pitch black. Using his torch would mean that Truro could have a clean shot at him. He would have to rely on his other senses. He moved to the end of the loft, shuffling across slowly, his back hunched. He could hear rats scattering and it made his skin crawl. His shower tonight would be long and hot.

Flack stopped and listened, freezing so he could hear the slightest movement. A scratch of light was visible from somewhere and he was thankful for it able to see that here was a gap in the attic wall between Davidoff's apartment and the one next to it, big enough for him to squeeze through. It was clear that the builders had taken several shortcuts on this particular job, another reason Flack didn't want any of his men to come up with him; their weight would simply not be taken.

He slipped through the gap; lowering his head and feeling his bare arms scrape against the rough edges of the brick. He listened, looking for shadows, aware of the slightest thing that was not meant to be there. Nothing. He began to wonder if they had been too late, if Truro was already out of there before they had realised about the loft.

Then, he heard a gasp. Someone was trying not to sneeze. Attic spaces were generally not the dustiest of places; no great loss of skin going on up there, no material shedding fibres, but anyone who was prone to being allergic to rats would not be quiet up there for long. His own sister had an allergy to rat epithelium, and if that was the case with Truro, in a few minutes he would be able to hold his sneezing, his eyes would be watering, and with any luck, he'd be scratching himself senseless. Suddenly, Flack decided that rats weren't too bad after all.

He heard scuffling and knew that Truro had realised his game was up. Flack stationed himself by the gap in the wall, knowing that, apart from the loft exit to the apartment below, there was no other escape. His eyes had become adjusted to the dark and he could see white stripes on Truro's tracksuit jacket as Truro began to move. Flack knew Truro would have his gun at the ready, so he waited, biding his time like a cat waiting to pounce.

Then, when Truro was close enough, he moved. Taking one long stride over to him the element of surprise worked in his favour and Truro lost his balance on the beams, landing on the plaster board with enough force to break through it. Flack went with him, still clutching the murderer's shoulder, bracing himself for the impact of the fall. They hit floorboards, and Flack was surprised they didn't go through those as well; such was the force of the landing. Flack placed some of his weight on Truro's back, smiling as the man groaned. The fall hadn't been to high, but there was still the potential for broken bones, although they had landed well enough. However, he was gentle, he didn't want to be the target for litigation.

"Did you ever think of antihistamines?" Flack said, manoeuvring himself so he could fasten handcuffs around Casey Truro's wrists, the gun lying a few feet to his right, well out of the way. "Right, rat boy, you able to get on your feet?"

-£-

Night time was never dark enough in New York City. The neon lights and continual electric buzz about the place meant that he could never truly switch off. He was always waiting for something to happen, something to take his mind off what was going on elsewhere.

His phone had rung for the last time. Finally, the months of waiting were over, she had finally left this world and gone onto the next, or so he hoped. He would have to take some time off for the funeral, a couple of days at least. Hopefully, by that time they would have Etchells and Halmann locked up safely. Hopefully.

There was a knock at his door and it opened before he could move the photograph he had been studying. Stella Bonasera stood in the doorway, her eyes tired but she was smiling. "You're as bad as Mac," she said. "He tries not to go home too."

"Where's Mac been today?" Glass said, realising that he hadn't seen the detective at all, which was unusual.

"Giving evidence in court," Stella said. "He's been back about an hour and is analysing the weapons taken from Davidoff's apartment. He was a little annoyed to hear he'd missed out on the day's adventures."

Glass laughed. He'd watched from afar, leaving Flack to control the affair. He had done a good job, although his shoulder was feeling the after effects somewhat. "I'm sure Mac would have enjoyed falling through a ceiling."

Stella nodded, moving closer to his desk. "I imagine Mac's already crossed that off his list of things to do." She was quiet for a couple of seconds. "I haven't eaten yet," she said, regarding him with sharp eyes. "Mac's busy, and I don't want to eat on my own tonight – it's been one of those days…" she began to justify herself.

"One of those days when you need to know that humans exist in this world as well as monsters," Glass saved her explanations. "I'm not sure if I classify as human right now, but I could do with some food. Where do you recommend?" He put the photo into his pocket as he stood up. He saw her notice it – nothing evaded those keen eyes – and he wondered whether she was a person he could show it to.

_A/N: I suck at writing action scenes. I can do sex scenes, emotional scenes, comedy scenes... but actions scenes - not my forte. So I apologise. I tried. However, there may be more, so any hints or tips are welcomed._

_Please review..._


	18. Chapter 18 Daughters

_Thank you to those who have reviewed - I love your comments!_

_The charity fashion show raised £608, about 1200 ish, so it went very well. Next chapter up Saturday, and I leave you with this to enjoy?_

Chapter Eighteen – Daughters

The café she had chosen was a late night one, in fact, she didn't think it ever shut, except for Sundays when the proprietors went to church twice. The food was home made, something the owners took great pride in, and Flack had assured her that the kitchen was cleaned to a high standard – this was after he had done some investigating of his own into local eateries. The event did not call for a fancy restaurant; it wasn't a date, after all, just colleagues grabbing something to eat.

So far, Stella liked what she saw of Glass. He was intelligent and interesting, with something that she couldn't quite work out yet. The fact that his office was devoid of anything personal was a mystery to her. Even she, who had nothing in the way of family, still had a photo or two of friends and mementos from vacations. Flack had nothing. And that was part of the reason - as well as being hungry - she had asked him to dinner.

People were scattered sparsely around the café, many of them alone after finishing work, a lot of them probably like her, with no one to rush home to. She had never had that, and didn't find herself longing for someone to be there when she returned from work. Living with someone would be strange, and that was partly the reason she had turned down Mac's offer of his spare room after the fire in her apartment block. "I recommend the lamb shank," she said to Glass as he studied the menu. "Even on a hot day its comfort food."

"I'll go with that than," he closed the menu and set it down on the table. "How are things in the lab?"

Stella nodded. "Busy. We should get the mDNA results on the hair in the morning. I would imagine that Mac will have something from ballistics when we get back. As I left him he was shooting things." She smiled, taking a sip from the coffee that had just been put on their table.

"You get along well with Mac," Glass said, adding sugar to his drink.

"We've worked together for years. He's always been committed to his work, but since his wife died that's where he spends most of his time," she said. She was sure Glass was already aware of Mac's background, but she thought that bringing up what had happened might open the door into Glass' own life.

"I wish I could be so dedicated," Glass said. "Mac's one of the best officers I've worked with – along with yourself, of course." He smiled, and she noted the ruggedness of his features and the kindness that was mixed in with them.

"Where is your accent from?" Stella said, ignoring his compliment for the time being. "I've not been able to place it."

"I was born in England and lived there until I was twenty two. My accent changed when I moved to Florida and by the time I was thirty I had lived in six states – kept trying to find a cool one. Twenty three years in America has certainly altered my accent," he said, turning to the waitress to let her know their order.

"Why did you come over?" she said. "You've come to New York with no gossip about you, no rumours, so my curiosity is piqued."

He laughed. "I'm really not interesting at all. I wanted a fresh start. My youth in England was not the most successful." She stayed silent, her eyes dancing, urging him to continue. "My girlfriend gave birth when we were just seventeen. She wasn't stable enough to look after the baby, so for three years it was just me. I was too young and couldn't cope, and by the time Michelle was three I was at breaking point. Social services came and helped, and I decided that the best thing for both of us was for her to be adopted."

He stopped, and Stella was unsure of what to say. She hadn't quite imagined such a story; the mystery around him hadn't smelt of family issues – rumours had been about mobsters and changed identities, but she supposed there may still be truth in those too. Did you keep in touch?" she asked eventually.

He nodded. "I sent birthday cards and presents at Christmas. The people she went to were wonderful and I even visited her. It was never covert, of course, she remembered some of the time from when she lived with me. As she grew up she became difficult to handle and was eventually admitted into hospital after a massive drinking session. While she was there they somehow discovered problems with her lungs and eventually diagnosed with mesothelioma, cancer caused by asbestos. It generally takes twenty to fifty years to show; in her case we think it took ten. The house she lived in when she was at primary school had had asbestos in the walls."

Stella looked at him sympathetically. "How is she?" she said, unsure whether she was asking the right question.

"She died this morning, our time. She was on a ventilator, and the time had come to turn it off," he dug in his pocket and pulled put a picture of a girl aged seven or so. Stella took it from him and studied it, noticing the same warm eyes and open face.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I wasn't meaning to pry."

He shook his head. "I was meaning to tell someone. You can't forever bottle these things up." He took back the photo and returned it to where it was kept.

"Are you going back for the funeral?" she said, the waitress bringing over their order.

"I'm hoping to. As long as this case is closed. The funeral isn't set yet as they are carrying out a post mortem – mainly for research purposes rather than further investigation. Her parents agreed to it. I imagine it will be in another ten days," he studied the food, a look of distant sadness in his eyes.

She nodded. "It will be." They began to eat, both hungry.

Eventually Glass looked up, half of the meal demolished already. "You lived in care, didn't you?"

Stella felt a little surprised at his bluntness, but also found it refreshing. She didn't need people to pussyfoot around her, preferring honesty to anything else. "I did. It was tough," she said. "It sounds like Michelle had a much better life with her adoptive parents." She wondered whether he had mentioned it as he needed some sort of absolution, some easing his guilt for giving up his daughter.

He nodded. "They did far more for her than what I ever could, at that time anyway."

"What happened to Michelle's mother?"

"She was admitted into a psychiatric unit near Wales many years ago. She remembers very little of what happened with Michelle. Cath and Allen will let the unit know, and they will decide if and when to inform her. I visit her when I go over to England, which isn't that often," he resumed eating. "This is good. I'll have to remember this place."

"It's a real find. Jimmy, the owner, prepares all the food in the morning. We were lucky to get these – they've usually sold out by now," Stella said, placing down her knife and fork, now full. "I should be getting back to Mac soon."

"No plans on sleeping tonight?"

She laughed. "In another couple of hours. Then I'll be back at around nine tomorrow when I'll be able to get the results from the hair. It's enough time to sleep."

"So what do you do in your free time? Read crime fiction?" he smiled, and she found herself warming more towards him.

"I shop and visit places. I also have girlfriends who I meet. It's a simple existence," she felt a touch embarrassed, feeling as if she should have more to tell him.

"Simple's the best way. That's sounds like my life, without the shopping of course." He stood up and made his way to the sleepy girl at the counter to pay. "I'll get this," he said. "You pay next time."

She took a step back and nodded, half surprised.

"The next free evening you have, would you like to go out for a meal and a few drinks? I'll let you pay," he said, turning round to her and leaving the girl with the change as a tip, actually putting a smile on her face.

"Sounds good," Stella said, walking with him out of the door and back to the lab.

-&-

Angell sat down on the bed in the hotel room and pulled off her shoes. Her feet ached and she was tired, wanting a shower and bed. Flack had gone to his own room to wash and change. He had been full of plaster dust from when the roof had collapsed, causing him to be the source of much mirth when the dust turned his hair all grey.

She lay back on the bed, head on the pillow, eyes heavy with the promise of sleep. She longed for the case to be over, for everyone who needed to be behind bars, then she could take a few days vacation and head off to somewhere where there was no cell phone reception.

Her cell rang, and she cursed having to stand up to get it from her jacket pocket. She hoped it was nothing with the case, apart from they had caught Etchells. The caller ID announced her father, so she answered. Anyone else might have met her voicemail.

"Daughter," the sarcastic tone came through clearly. "I think I have a daughter, anyway. Let me check – just looking at birth certificates… oh, yes. Jessica Rebekah Angell."

She laughed. "I have gone longer than this without calling you!" she said, defending herself.

"But you're generally not living in hotels because someone's stalking your boyfriend, and don't try and deny he's your boyfriend, Jessie," the last line was half a warning.

"You'd approve, Dad," she said. "We're okay, anyhow. We arrested Casey Truro – Andy Halmann's nephew today, and an ex-cop Mickey Davidoff, who was working at Attica as a guard."

"Sounds intriguing," she could tell her father was disinterested in the case. He had never enjoyed talking about her job over the phone, preferring to see her face to face, where he would grill her and question decisions she had made. "So, tell me more about you so I can filter it back to your mother. She still doesn't think you've ever been on a date yet."

"Are you sure about that, Dad?" she said with a chuckle. "I'm just busy with work."

"And?"

"And what?" she said, innocence overflowing in her tone.

He laughed. "As soon as you've finished this case, your mother and I are going to come down and visit you, so see which of these hotels you like best and we'll make reservations there. I assume we'll get to meet Flack while we're there."

"Dad," Angell said. "We've been out on one date. It's not exactly time to start writing wedding invitations."

"I'm teasing, Jessie. But I would like to meet him anyway, even if it's just to replace his pacifier."

She laughed, hearing knocking at the door. She opened it to find a darker looking Flack than before. "He's here now if you want to speak with him," she said, making Flack look slightly perturbed.

"Pop him on," her father said. She held out the phone to Flack who looked at it as if she had just passed him a bomb.

"Detective Sergeant Angell, how are you?" he said. Angell stifled laughter. No one call her father Detective Sergeant and survived without an ear bashing.

"Sorry – Davy it is then," Flack said after listening to her father for thirty seconds or so. She watched his face as their conversation continued, her father managing somehow to have a serious conversation. After about fifteen minutes, Flack handed the phone back to her.

"So you want to speak to me now, do you?" she said.

"Not really. He's a nice guy, Jess. Try not to scare him off. Anyway, we'll hopefully see you in a few days. Keep us posted in the case." He hung up and she put the phone on the bedside table.

"You got along well," she said to Flack, who was now lying on the bed, stretched out wearing jeans and a t shirt. He looked good, that she couldn't deny; the thrill of him being there ran through her torso and down into her legs.

"I think he likes me."

"I have no idea why," she said, teasing.

"Seems to think I can handle you."

She shook her head. "More likely to be thinking that we could produce a fourth generation of cops."

Flack laughed, turning over and reaching out a hand to touch her thigh. "Maybe that's a little premature."

She was quiet, watching him, watching the emotion that flickered through the blues of his eyes. "What are you thinking?" she said. "I can't read you."

"You really want to know?" he said. She nodded. "I'm thinking that I feel as if I'm on a roller coaster and I'm not sure I'm properly strapped in. I'm scared, Jess. Not of the people trying to blow me up, or the fact that my job sometimes makes me fall through ceilings, I'm scared of what's happened with us in the past four days."

"Me too," she said. "It feels like this should be happening too fast, but it's not. I can't imagine what will happen when things get back to normal, like when you get a new apartment."

"We deal with it," he said, sitting up and putting his hands on her shoulders. "It's going to be a while till I get somewhere, at least another couple of months."

"Why are you scared?" she said, enjoying his touch and he applied pressure with his fingers to the nape or her neck.

"The same reasons you are. This hasn't happened to me before," she heard the seriousness in his voice and left the wise cracks alone, resting her head back on his chest. She still had worries, and they weren't going to go away overnight, but he outweighed any of them, and the scariest thing was that she didn't have anything to worry about. "You want me to stay here tonight?" he said. "I don't have to, you know, Jess. If you want some time…"

She shook her head. "Stay. We could get room service to bring something up and watch the game on TV. I need to have a shower first, though."

"You need your back scrubbed" he said, his smile widening.

She stood up and made her way to the door of the bathroom before turning round, her eyes teasing and smile wide. She'd never seen him move so fast.

--

Another girl sat with her back against a cold wall, tears dried on her cheeks. What was left of her hair felt dirty and matted, and she wished for a pair of scissors to rid herself of it. He'd made many comments about her hair, comparing it to his mother's. She closed her eyes and wished for her father to find her. He must realise soon that she was missing. He must.

_Please review!_


	19. Chapter 19 Get Behind the Sun

_A/N: This chapter has now been beta-d. Nothing crucial to the story has been changed, its just been improved!_

Chapter Nineteen – Get Behind the Sun

The early morning was already promising heat even as Stella returned to the lab after a few hours of sleep and a long shower. Technically, she shouldn't have been there until seven, but something was troubling her, niggling at the back of her mind, and she was certain it had something to do with the DNA test on the hair.

The lab was almost empty, just Kendall present and completely absorbed in some experiment she was working on in her own time. Even Adam hadn't turned in yet. She glanced through the windows into Mac's office and noted his absence. The chances were he was lurking somewhere, possibly in the morgue with whoever was on night duty. She took her lab coat off its hanger and pulled it on, shaking her hair out of the way. The equipment she had used to test the hair was set up in a corner of the lab, and she made her way over to it with anticipation. Even if she could get mDNA from the hair, there was only a small chance that there would be a match to it on one of the databases. Still, it gave them a little piece of extra evidence.

As she reached the equipment she saw a note with her name on it in bold letters, the suspicion that had haunted her now a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She picked up the note and read it, cursing quietly. The machine she had been using had been plugged into the electricity supply; during the night, something in that circuit had shorted and the machine had switched off. Although the break in electricity wouldn't affect the results, thankfully, there would now be a delay in getting the results, probably around ten hours.

"Everything alright, Stella?" she heard Mac's voice say as he entered the lab.

She shook her head as he walked over, handing him the note. He nodded and passed it back. "It happens once in a blue moon. The evidence is still fine, it's undamaged and we'll have a result a little later than anticipated. Glass will understand. He seems to have a good grasp of forensics."

"Let's just hope that this hair is not vital in reaching somebody quickly," she said, still annoyed about the fuse. She was not the most patient person when it came to avoidable incidents. "I'm just praying that Etchells or whoever it was who sent this picked this hair up from salon thinking it would be a very red herring."

Mac nodded, "We don't know, Stella, but there's nothing we could do. I wish I had checked it this morning, but Sid had a floater in and I've spent the past few hours in the morgue. It's a really interesting case," he eyed her with amusement. "You never told me how your date with Glass went last night."

Stella raised her eyebrows at him. "It wasn't a date, Mac. It was just a meal – like you and I sometimes do."

Mac's expression was teasingly disbelieving. "Somehow, Stella, I doubt that. You seeing him again?"

She nodded, trying to stop a small smile from creeping up on her face even though she was still irate about the fuse. "We said we'd grab something to eat again. He's a nice guy, Mac, and I could do with something in my life other than work."

"I don't know him that well, but he seems okay," he paused, thinking. Stella knew the look that was now etched on his face well. Throughout their brief conversation he had been thinking about a case. "I'm trying to get a handle of the Etchells brothers. I've had reports sent over from their prior convictions to see if I can spot anything they may be useful in tracking down Malcolm Etchells. We've heard nothing from him for nearly seventy-two hours. The regularity of his attacks has been increasing. I would have expected another victim by now, and there hasn't been."

"So there's a good chance that the owner of the hair is his next victim, who we just haven't discovered yet," Stella said, casting a glance of annoyance over to the equipment.

"I'm not convinced. I think he would find some way of letting us know what he was doing as he seems to like the attention, and watching his vics be discovered. Why don't you come with me and look over the case notes. You might notice something I've missed," he said, turning in the direction of his office.

Stella nodded. There was no point wasting time waiting.

-&-

Glass watched the suspect through the window. Casey Truro was well aware he was being watched. He knew the system already, had been through it a couple of times; and for the last fifteen minutes had been sat perfectly still, looking the epitome of innocence. Glass had been watching, and there wasn't much he missed, but Truro was giving little away.

However, sometimes even a little was enough.

Glass walked into the interview room along with Casey's attorney, a woman with thick blonde hair piled up on her head. Glass had come across her once or twice since he had started in New York, and she was pretty good at her job, but too inexperienced to really understand that interviews worked on more levels than just the verbal. He smiled and nodded at her as she sat down. She had been with Casey until two in the morning, talking in depth, and coming up with some game plan. Glass didn't play games. Games were for amateurs and idiots, of which he was neither, not when it came to his job, anyway.

"So, Mr Truro," he began, having already recorded the relevant details on the tape. "You know why you're here?"

"You have false evidence against me," Casey said. The obvious answer. "You've drawn stupid conclusions. I've been victimised because of my previous convictions, for which I have served my punishment."

Glass nodded, not rushing to speak. Casey looked shocked at him, obviously expecting some kind of condemnation.

"I don't know anything about some murdered shrink, or – none of this is to do with me," Casey continued. His attorney made eye contact with him, warning him against saying too much. Glass smiled.

"I can sit here all day, Mr Truro. I have a pile of paper work on my desk, and I'm quite happy to put it off for as long as possible. Tell me what you didn't do. You could even tell me what you did do, and we can see if it tallies with what we know."

"I haven't done anything," Casey said. "I've been staying at a friend's place until I got myself sorted. All this has been planted – you're just trying to get a quick conviction."

"Conviction for what?" Glass said, making a mental note to invest in comfier chairs for the interviewer.

"For that dead shrink – like I said? You know, are you a proper cop? Aren't you meant to be asking me loads of questions?" Casey said, ruffled already and clearly puzzled.

Glass shrugged, taking a sip from a glass of water. "I know what I need to know, my friend. Like I said, this is better than paperwork. I can sit here all day."

"Either you charge my client or let us go, Captain Glass. If you have no questions to ask, there's no point in wasting my client's time," the attorney said.

Glass smiled at her and nodded. "You're quite right, Miss… I'm sorry, I seem to have forgotten. How impolite."

"Miss Vincenzski," the brief said.

"So, Mr Truro. Miss Vincenzski seems to want us to hurry up so she can get away," he ignored the infuriated look from the brief. "Tell me about your visits to see Matthew Harper in Attica."

"I was never there. I don't even know who Matthew Harper is," Casey said. Glass knew he was beginning to shift him into a corner. Casey Truro had been arrested for murdering John Belshaw, and they had conclusive proof having discovered the Browning nine millimetre used in the shooting late yesterday evening, hidden just up the chimney in Davidoff's apartment. Both Mac and Stella had been present when ballistics had concluded it was a match to the weapon used on Belshaw and the real Monty Jones. As of yet, Casey didn't know this bit of information, and Glass was looking forward to telling him.

"We have irrefutable evidence of you meeting with Harper at Attica under the pretence of being his counsellor. You assumed the name and identity of a man murdered in 2005, which is when you stopped seeing your parole officer. Funny coincidence it is not, Mr Truro, or should I say Mr Jones," Glass said, watching the brief's expression.

"What evidence do you claim to have?" the brief asked.

"Fingerprint and DNA, plus video footage," Glass said, adding a touch of laziness to his tone.

"I need to speak with my client alone, Captain Glass," she said, looking a little panicked.

Glass nodded and stood up, returning outside to his watch post. "I'll give you some time," he said, as the door was opened. "But we need to resume at some point. I have paperwork to do."

They spoke in hushed tones, although Casey moved his arms dramatically which gave away his thoughts better than any shouting could have done. Glass studied them, knowing that both Casey and the brief were now feeling uptight. The brief would be working out some plea bargain, but Glass wasn't interested in that. He hadn't yet played his trump card.

Vincenzski had the door opened after eight minutes and asked if Glass could be called to continue the interviewing. He slowed his return, watching as Casey became more agitated, having to wait, tapping the table and shaking his legs.

Glass eventually went back in, smiling at them as he sat back down. "Have we had a chat then about the evidence?"

The brief nodded. Casey refused to look at either of them. "My client will be happy to give you details of his conversations with Matthew Harper if you can come to some deal regarding his sentence."

"Miss Vincenzski," Glass said, talking to her as he would a small child. "Your client is accused of the murders of two men. The options will be life with parole or life without. He is aware of the charges against him and that they will not be dropped?" Glass smiled. Casey was still refusing to make eye contact.

"Captain Glass," Vincenzski began. "My client took on a false identity so he could have a fresh start. That is a crime, we are aware of that, but it does not warrant such a severe sentence. As far as we are aware, you have no evidence to prove this. Arresting my client on suspicion of murder appears to be a rouse to bring him here and hear details of his conversations with Matthew Harper."

Glass nodded. "So if I inform the judge that you are willing to cooperate and give us information about Harper, you will be happy about the charges of impersonation being dropped." Casey's eyes lit up and he finally looked at Glass, nodding. Glass nodded back. "You realise that fingerprints are not the extent of our evidence, don't you? And that I am obliged to share with you what evidence we have." Casey went pale and the brief looked angry.

"This should have been disclosed earlier," she said.

Glass nodded. "We haven't been in here that long yet," he said. "And you have taken a break to discuss things with your client. Anyway, to cut a long story short; we have the gun that was used to kill Belshaw – the shrink as Mr Truro puts it – and the real Monty Jones. The arrest for murder was exactly what it was intended to be. I'm not interested in you not seeing your parole officer, Casey. I'm a captain; I don't do small fry cases. I'm interested in the two murders you're known to have so far committed. And what I'd really like to know is what you've just offered me. What did Harper tell you to do?"

Casey looked at the table. Glass stood up. He wasn't going to speak. Better he was left to sweat on it overnight. Whatever he knew would help bring Harper down, and that was exactly what Glass wanted. That, and Malcolm Etchells in prison.

-&-

Danny stood back as Flack knocked hard on the door. So far, they had managed to trace one of the witnesses who had been due to give evidence against Matthew Harper in 1979; one out of nine. The rest were non-contactable having moved, disappeared or died. Three had died from HIV related illnesses, one had committed suicide, two had moved out-of-state leaving no forwarding address and two had been reported missing. Danny was curious to investigate the two who had disappeared, wondering if there was more to it than simple missing persons.

"NYPD," Flack shouted through the door. "We just want to have a few words." He looked at Danny, shrugging. "If there's no answer I think we've got to go in."

Danny nodded. "Given what's been happening I'd agree." He bent down, shouting through the door once more, echoing Flack's words but still no response came. "Let's check round the back."

They had just headed down the steps when the door opened. Danny heard the soft creak and turned around, seeing a short man standing there, in his late forties, an ugly scar running across his forehead and down the side of his cheek. He would have been beautiful but for the scar, a cherubic quality to his features that even time hadn't destroyed.

"It's been a long time since I've seen anyone from NYPD," he said. "I'm sorry it took so long to get to the door. I was in the cellar, painting."

The two officers returned up the steps and entered the open door, making their way into a small ground floor apartment, walls decorated in dark blues and blacks, making the whole place seem lightless.

"I have the cellar too; it's where I paint. I've managed to sell several of my works, and have a few things on commission," the witness said. "But you haven't come to see my artwork. Can you tell me why you're here, detectives?"

Flack nodded. "Can you confirm your name?" he said. Danny knew that it was the man they were looking for having seen the photos in the file on the Harper case.

"Harry Lloyd-Richards," Harry said, his voice soft and calm. Danny almost felt as if he had been expecting them, his tone excepting, filled with final relief.

"Mr Lloyd-Richards," Flack began. "We're here about a case that went to trial in 1979. You were a witness, but failed to stand and we need some information why. I can assure you that you're not in any trouble, but this may involve bringing back some bad memories." Harry Lloyd-Richards had been another of Matthew Harper's boys. He had lived with Harper for four years, leaving six months before Harper's arrest. Harry's statement had not been recovered, there had been no record of it, except from Flack Senior's notes which reported the nineteen year old, as he was them, recounting some of the abuse he had suffered. It had not been pleasant reading.

Harry sighed. "You're looking into why I never testified against Matthew Harper. I knew that one day it would be reinvestigated. Detectives, I'm sure you can appreciate that this will be a long and painful story, and I need some time to gather my thoughts before telling you. Can I take your cards and come down to your station within the next couple of days? Unless it's urgent?"

Danny looked at Flack. They both knew that there was nothing that Lloyd-Richards would know that could help them with the present case. Their only concern was for his own safety, but given that Malcolm Etchells had never attacked a man, and Casey Truro was in custody, there seemed less to worry about.

"We would appreciate your help as soon as possible, Mr Lloyd-Richards," Flack said. "By the way, how did you get the scar? On your photos it wasn't there."

"After the trial, some of Harper's friends wanted me to come and live with them. I cut myself. It made me look older and imperfect. They lost interest. It's very bold of you to ask, Detective. Most people just stare," Harry said. "I will see you as soon as possible. I assume you have had developments in the case which has made you reopen it?"

Flack nodded. "You could help by redoing your statement."

Harry nodded. "It's time some good came of what happened, Detective. I'll see you soon."

He led them to the door and watched as they walked away. Danny glanced back and nodded goodbye. "Do you think he ever goes out?"

"Why? Because of the scar?" Flack said. "Not everyone is as vain as you, Messer."

Danny laughed. "No, just because of what happened to him. He maimed himself so what had happened to him wouldn't be repeated." He noticed Flack's face, his expression downcast. "Look, Flack. What happened on this case wasn't your father's fault. It was the fault of the bastards who did this in the first place."

Flack nodded. "Thank you for your support, Danny, but if my father had had the gumption to speak out then those men who came back after Harry wouldn't have been able to. They wouldn't have been able to go after their next target, because we both know there would have been a next target, and the one after that."

"Then you have to get over yourself and move on, like you've been telling me to do," Danny said.

"You talked to Lindsay properly yet?" Flack said.

"Don't try and change the subject, man. But yeah, I have spoken to Lindsay. She wants me to think about what we could potentially have," Danny said, a note of sarcasm mixed in at the end.

"Ladies are like that," Flack said. "You need to give it some thought."

Danny looked thoughtful. "That's a lot less blasé than how I thought you'd be. Must be Angell's influence." He watched Flack's face as he mentioned Angell, some of the tension leaving. Danny felt a pleasant sense of loss; the days of shooting hoops and watching the game would never be completely over, but there was a sense of something new starting with Don Flack, and maybe it had come at exactly the right time.

-&-

Stella returned to the machine for what seemed like the thirtieth time that day. She had checked it at least every thirty minutes, making sure no plugs had fused, or the equipment hadn't suddenly stopped working. Now it was finally done. She plugged in her laptop, knowing that within a few minutes she could potentially have an ID on the owner of the hair.

She watched the screen, anticipation gathering in the pit of her stomach. The screen stopped changing, bringing up a photo and information. She yelled for Mac.

He was there within seconds, looking over her shoulder at the computer's information. A storm brewed within her, thunderbolts burning inside. "The owner of the hair has four alleles in common with…" she began.

"A sister," Mac said, helping her finish her statement. "Flack's sister. He has her."


	20. Chapter 20 The Falling Blades of Night

_Thank you for the reviews for the last chapter - it is nice to know people's thoughts on this story. I got a little wordy here - blame Lily Moonlight (and if you haven't checked out her stories I suggest you do!). She reminded me of how much I love playing with words - the very thing I was trying to cut. Hopefully, this is the right time for a little more description though._

_This chapter has been updated since it was first uploaded - nothing major, just fine tuning. Thank you to my wonderful beta, Sonnet Lacewing._

_Enjoy - hopefully - and let me know what you think._

Chapter Twenty – The Falling Blades of Night

Overhead, the sky was painted black, no stars able to permeate the duvet of cloud that lowered the earth's ceiling, no light from any moon. Since Stella's news, the lights had dimmed until blackness had crept into each of their hearts, filling the pits of their stomachs with a dark fear which fed into their veins, poisoning their blood. Angell stood back from the small house that Flack's sister shared with a friend and watched the silent scene that was carrying on around her. It had taken almost an hour to get there, shooting through red lights and taking all the short cuts she knew, sirens blaring. Mac and Stella had arrived first, meeting the Suffolk County Police Department who had secured the house already. Lindsay, Hawkes and Danny had arrived shortly after herself and Flack, their faces set in determination.

It would have been the same for whoever the DNA had shown the hair to belong to. As soon as the results were through, there would have been a rush to find her, an almost panic in ensuring she was safe, hoping that it had been some tasteless joke from Malcolm Etchells. But they were here, outside Flack's sister's house which was empty of all life or light. Angell felt the oppressive heat of the night suffocating her, the low tones and hushed words closing in, creating claustrophobia.

Flack was at the front door, itching to enter once Mac and Glass gave him the go-ahead, the green light that his sister was not a victim lying inside the place where she thought she was safe.

"She's not there," Mac said, stepping out of the front door, forcing Flack backwards down the path. "There are signs of a struggle, of a forced entry." Angell heard his words as they fled across the still air, a breathless night. "You can check the scene, but you must follow all usual protocol. Do you understand, Detective Flack?"

She watched as Flack nodded, his throat too choked for words. Angell crossed the quiet street and made her way up the path towards him and Mac. Glass had exited also, and was talking with the captain from Suffolk County. She saw his eyes on her as she caught up to Mac, and wondered whether he was going to instruct her to remove Flack from the house as soon as he had looked around. He said nothing, but somehow, she thought, he knew everything. It was as if he had lived this life before, and there was nothing left to shock him.

"Detective Angell," Mac addressed her. "I suggest you join Flack walking though the house. Stella will be with you." She looked at Stella whose expression was plagued with guilt. If it hadn't have been for the breaker blowing they would have been here ten hours ago. Angell knew that Stella was blaming herself; if she had stayed at the lab instead of going home she would have been able to restart the experiment as soon as the electricity had come back on but there were too many what ifs to be contemplated. Amelia Flack was missing, presumed kidnapped by Malcolm Etchells. They did not know how much time they had left, if any.

The house spoke in whispers as she entered, her sharp eyes picking up on objects even in the dim light provided by the street lamps and flashlights. She heard the walls' tales as she walked through, feeling the abject terror that had somehow stained the inanimate. Cushions had been pulled from the sofa, pictures dragged off the walls, photograph frames smashed, the pictures intact.

"He came back in after taking her to inflict this damage," she said, shining her flashlight into the dining room. "The damage in here is vandalism rather than the result of a struggle."

"Wait till you see the next room," Mac said, leading them in. Flack was silent, something Angell was unused to. She had pushed away the urge to comfort him, knowing that the only source of solace he was seeking was in the hunt for Malcolm Etchells.

The dining room and kitchen showed signs of a fight. Cupboards were untouched, drawers unopened. The kitchen blind was open, letting in the black of outside. Angell could see a streak of blood smeared over a worktop, a knife nearby, taken from the wooden block that had fallen over. Morning newspapers had been scattered across the floor, some crinkled with footsteps. She shone her torch and saw the date. "The newspapers are from two days ago."

Mac nodded. "We think she's been missing since Wednesday morning. She had a couple of days booked off work. There's a message on her answering machine from a Neil Collins asking where she was. She was supposed to have met him at a coffee shop Wednesday at eleven, but didn't show and wasn't answering her cell. As far as we know, Amelia was last seen Tuesday night by her room mate, Luanne Davies before Luanne headed off to Chicago. The morning paper is delivered around five thirty am, and she had clearly brought that in the house. Yesterday's and today's are still outside."

"Any witnesses to the struggle?" Angell said. "There must have been someone who was woken by it – I can't see her having gone quietly, especially looking at the state of this room."

"As of yet, we've got nothing to go off. The local police have been to the neighbours already. Adjacent to the right are away, the lady on the left is hard or hearing. We should have clues to start from. I cannot see Etchells having left no evidence. What we need is something that tells us where he has taken her," Mac said.

Angell watched as Flack stood up straight, seeming to wake up from his thoughts. "The blood on the worktop?" he said.

"Is not enough to have come from a significant injury. It could possibly be Etchells'. Flack, I need to know some things about your sister," Mac said. Angell began to walk around the rooms, listening to them talk. Flack had mentioned Amelia a few times. She was five years his junior, creative, clever and feisty. And Angell knew right now that Flack would be putting himself through the mire for not being there to look after his baby sister, and his grievances against his father would be snowballing – why hadn't his father been checking in on her, he was aware of the potential threat.

"I know this is hard, but the faster we find a starting point, the more likely we are to bring her back safe. What's Amelia like? Would she fight back? How hard?" Mac was asking. Angell scanned her torch across the work surfaces in the kitchen, and down the side of the cupboards.

"She's tough. She had me as a big brother and trust me, I gave her more hell than just pulling pigtails," Flack said. She heard the crack in his voice and again fought the urge to just comfort him in some way. It was not the time or the place. If he wanted her, she was three metres away.

"Physically?" Mac said.

"Again, strong. She entered the New York marathon two years ago. Couldn't last year because she sprained her ankle. If Etchells has taken my sister he'll have a fight on his hands," Flack said, breaking eye contact with Mac and looking around the room.

Angell bent down, scanning the floor. Newspaper pages were everywhere, but she had noticed something that looked out of place. "Mac," she called. He came immediately, lowering himself and moving one of the pages out of the way to see what Angell had spotted. With gloved hands he picked up the slip of paper.

"It's a receipt," he said. "From a gas station in Queens. Whoever paid for the fuel used their credit card."

"I can tell you the receipt's not my sister's," Flack said. "She didn't use credit cards. She would max them out without two thoughts about it. Dad got fed up with having to bail her out and persuaded her to get counselling. It seemed to work."

"What about your sister's housemate?" Mac said.

"Can't say. But Amy and Luanne were neat freaks. That's why they'd stayed living together after college. If Luanne had dropped that receipt my sister would have shredded it as soon as she'd have noticed it. It wouldn't have been left on the floor," Flack said, his torch making pools of light.

"What's the date on it, Mac?" Angell said. She felt Flack's hand touch the small of her waist as he moved near to her. In the darkness no one would notice unless they focused their torch beam on them. At that moment, Angell didn't care whether they were making their relationship obvious, it didn't matter any longer.

"Tuesday morning, 3.05 am," Mac said, bagging the receipt. "Looks like Etchells stopped for fuel before heading over here. That would be my guess anyway. Stella's upstairs. You should go see her."

Angell headed towards the stairs, Flack behind her. She could hear Glass' voice from where they had just left and realised that he had been nearby all along, listening without interrupting. He would be sending officers out to the station to take the video surveillance tapes. If they could pick Etchells up on film, they may be able to get his car and get an APB out on it.

The stairs were strewn with clothes and underwear. Like the living room, it looked as if someone had deliberately wanted to make a mess. Angell figured that Etchells had managed to enter through an unlocked window and waiting until Amelia was in the kitchen. The French doors were unlocked, so it looked as if she had been taken out that way, then carried or dragged around to the drive where Etchells' car would have been.

"This stuff isn't Amy's," Flack said. The stair lights were on. Now they were sure that there was no one lurking the house had been lit up like some kind of nightmarish star, the false glow illuminating the unnaturalness of the house.

"It's her housemate's?" Angell said. Flack shook his head.

"Stella!" he called. Stella appeared from one of the bedrooms. "The clothes on the stairs don't belong to Amelia or Luanne," he said. "I know you're thinking it's weird that I know, but Luanne took larger sizes – she was a plus-size model with a degree in astrophysics, and my sister never wore skirts, he pointed to a size 2 seventies style skirt lying on the landing.

Stella nodded. "I knew there was some discrepancy. The clothes that are on the stairs are all from the seventies and eighties. Both wardrobes have been emptied, but the clothes from them just seem to have been dumped on the beds."

"So whose are the clothes?" Angell said.

Stella shrugged. "As of yet, I have no suggestion. I will bag them and search them for hairs and anything else that might give us some evidence."

"I may have an idea," Angell said. "There was a picture of the Etchells brother's mom in the file Mac had sent over. She had long brown hair, like all the victims. In the photo she was wearing clothes that were typical of the late seventies. I wouldn't mind betting that these were hers."

"If they are then Malcolm Etchells is deteriorating, which we would expect with his brother now being in jail," Glass said from the top of the stairs. "Flack, your father's outside. We had to contact him, of course. He wants you."

Angell watched as her lover's face turned stone cold. His eyes lost the remainder of the shine they had left, and he pushed past Glass to head outside.

"Detective Angell, can I suggest that you follow him outside. Things may get heated, and that won't necessarily help this investigation," Glass said. She nodded, leaving the stuffy building and returning outside to the night air.

Angell watched as Flack approached his father. She saw his fist tighten and wondered if he was about to punch him. Instead he stopped a few feet away from Flack Senior and stood there, in silence, staring."

"I'm sorry, son," Flack Senior said. His expression was one of a broken man. "This is my fault."

"You're damn right it is! Flack said. Angell took a few steps closer. She could see that Flack was as humid as the air, and at any second the thunder inside him was about to roll.

"I never thought it would get this bad," the father said, his voice breaking, cracking. He stood there, under the spot light of a street lamp, the once glorious figure collapsing beneath the weight of his guilt. Angell felt pity for him, imagining her own father stood there having heard that she or one of her brothers had gone missing.

Flack said nothing. He simply stood there, looking at his father, his eyes cold and emotionless. Angell knew that he had cut himself off, that the ties between him and the man who had once been his hero had been severed. He turned around and walked away, back to the front of the house. Angell saw Glass there, forever watching.

"Take him home," Glass said to her as she too re-entered the building. "Take him home."

-&-

It had taken a direct order and the threat of suspension to remove Flack from the scene of his sister's disappearance. By the time they had left it was past two in the morning, the darkest hours of night handing over them with their talons out as Angell drove them to a motel on the outskirts of Manhattan. She knew that both of them were too wired to sleep, the adrenaline and anxiety acting like caffeine.

She booked them into a double room, giving false names and paying with cash. She liked the sense of anonymity and the feeling of separation it was placing between them and Etchells. When she returned from the check in desk Flack was stood there, smiling grimly.

"You realise that was pointless, don't you?" he said. "We look like cops, we probably even smell like cops in this place." He looked around. She knew that the motel wasn't the greatest, but its location suited them; halfway between Queens and Huntington, if they got a call in the night they were ideally placed to get to either location fast. "And giving the names Mr and Mrs Hammerback is not something I ever want anyone to know about."

She took her bag from him and leading him in the direction the clerk had pointed her in. "I think every woman has a small crush on Sid," she said, pleased with herself for managing to focus Flack on something else for a short while.

"Thank you," he said.

"What for?" she unlocked the door to their room.

"For pretty much everything."

They entered and she sat on the bed, discarding her bag near the door. Flack locked up behind them and sat next to her. He turned and they made eye contact. The emotion visible in his eyes pained her and she put her arms around his neck, pulling him towards her. They fell backwards, onto the bed, his head on her chest and lay there. It didn't matter that less than a week ago they had been just friends and colleagues, sharing a drink and a joke. It didn't matter who knew or what they thought. All that mattered was that somewhere his sister was; in what state they did not know. But she was gone, and they wanted her back.

-&-

A thousand blades of night fell through the thick duvet of cloud, stabbing through the already wounded hearts of those who looked and searched. The air, humid and still, promised storms. For now, they had to wait, enduring the darkest hours before a dawn that might never arrive.

_Please do review!_

_Thank you to those people who have nominated this story (and me!) for the NY Fanfiction Awards. There are loads of catergories so go check it out if you haven't already. It's listed on one of the NY forums. Glass is nominated for best original character (I'm sooooo pleased about that one, so thank you Blue Shadowdancer!). Its also a really good place to visit if you just want to get some reading recommendations!_


	21. Chapter 21 This Mourning Air

_Firstly, thank you to Sonnet Lacewing and Lily Moonlight who both took looks at this. It was an easy chapter to write, but it won't be an easy chapter to read because of the issues it covers._

_Secondly, thank you to all of those who have reviewed so far. The reviews for this fic have amazed me - people have had such nice things to say. If you haven't reviewed so far, then your comments are very much appreciated and you can do it anonymously._

_The title is taken from a Portishead song. This chapter was written while listening to their eponymous album._

Chapter Twenty One – This Mourning Air

Flack stood at the window, looking out over a slow rising dawn. In the distance he could see the city; tall, imposing buildings standing as silhouettes against the lightening sky. Somewhere in that city, in the density of buildings and stone, was his sister. He felt stifled, almost tied up with his inability to just run in and grab her, hauling her back home where she would be safe.

The city was wrapped around him; it was his home, his territory. He knew every inch of the streets, but now they were strangers, ghosts in the night protecting their secret. His eyes moved from the window to where Jess was lying in bed, her eyes wide open. They hadn't slept. Looking at her gave him some solace. She was safe, unharmed, and his support. Without her he had no idea where he would have been, probably waking every resident in Queens and dead by now himself. All rationality had stopped at one point, and he had been desperate to go to Malcolm Etchells' brother and shake his knowledge out of him. Jess had sat there and listened, then rationalised. And he had listened to what she had to say.

Then he had lost himself in her, needing the conformation of being alive that sex brought, needing to be close to someone, to her. He had felt her heart beating against his chest, felt her skin grow hotter, felt her being alive as the thunder had taken over the city, crying out along with them, the rain had begun to pour, drenching the sidewalks, drenching them. Then he had talked; about his father and the relationship they had struggled with and the tension between his parents that he had grown up with, neither of them seeming to acknowledge its existence. He told her his hopes and dreams and ambitions and fears, and she had listened with that quiet intensity that contrasted sharply with her bladed tongue. He took strength from her, and, stood at the window, watching the city, he realised that he had become too intertwined with her to let go. A few days, a few manic days, had driven away any shades of grey and given him a perfect white path.

"Come back to bed," she said, moving away the cotton sheets that had been surprisingly clean. "Mac or Glass will phone us as soon as they've got something." Another roll of thunder hit the city.

He drew the curtains and returned to the well-worn bed. The humidity was still there as the storms had not yet finished disinfecting the air. The heaviness still weighted on them, oppressive heat clinging to their bodies in beads of sweat and anxiety.

Jess turned onto her side and looked at him, her fingers tracing words across his skin, writing on his body in invisible ink. He felt guilt. He desired her, his body betrayed him, but his mind was wandering around the city.

"When we have found your sister," she said. "And Etchells is out of the way; we'll go away and sort all of this out."

He nodded. "For me everything's sorted," he said.

"Because you only see in black and white, although right now your eyes are red with lack of sleep," she said, pushing the sheets back and sitting up.

He smiled wryly. "I never did look beautiful in the mornings."

She smiled back as the thunder came and her cell rang.

-&-

Stella sat in the small office in Attica where security lived, scrutinising tapes of CCTV footage from the day before. Mac had had a call at just past three am from their friend the prison warden. He had checked the visitors' list from the day before. Matthew Harper had had one visitor, a Mr Andrew Halmann. Now it was confirmed. She could see Halmann as he sat opposite Harper. He looked strained, wringing his hands together, agitation writhing inside him. Harper's face was obscured by the camera angle, but his hand gestures gave him away as being unhappy. She stopped the tape. It was time to see ex-detective Halmann herself and find what answers he had.

Outside the building the rain was pounding, the cool drops shedding steam as they fell. Stella struggled against weariness, pushing the image of bed away from her mind. Hawkes had arranged to pick her up from the lab and drive to Halmann's, and she was thankful that she wouldn't need the concentration required to negotiate the streets of New York, even though dawn was only just creeping through the darkness of night.

She was still drenched by the time she got into Hawkes' car, the video footage of Halmann conversing with Harper safely away in the lab. They were silent as the car made its way to Halmann's apartment, nothing was left to say. Every victim was felt, every one they dealt with had a story, a family, but Amelia Flack was too close. Stella was reminded of Aiden Burns, another investigation that had been blurred around the border of professional and personal. The night time had shown many things, revealing different facets of personalities she thought she knew. She shuddered suddenly, the suffocating heat doing nothing to warm the empty desperation inside.

"We're here," Hawkes said, parking. She got out and headed into the apartment block, the air still empty of words.

Hawkes banged on Halmann's door, forgetting that it was not yet six in the morning. Stella radioed in, confirming where they were and that they may call for backup. Halmann would be asked to come down to the station, but not arrested, as long as he didn't protest.

No answer came and Hawkes banged again, looking worriedly at Stella. A door opened from across the hall and a man in striped pyjamas stood there. "I wondered when the cops would come," he said, making Stella wonder how he knew even though they weren't in uniform and wore no identification. "I heard a gun shot in there about ten last night."

"And you didn't call the police?" Hawkes said.

"What for?" the man replied. "I call you every time I hear a gun shot and she might as well move in with me." He chuckled and Stella raised her eyebrows. "He was probably shooting pigeons. God knows there's enough flying vermin around here to shoot." He closed his door, disappearing.

"You think we should enter?" Hawkes said.

Stella nodded. "Try turning the handle," she said. The door opened.

Hawkes looked at her.

"He wanted us to be able to get in here," she said, answering his unspoken question.

Halmann's body sat on his sofa, his feet resting on a footstool, the TV set to a sports channel. A gun rested under his right hand. In front of him was a box, identical in style to the ones used by the NYPD for storing evidence in the late seventies and early eighties.

"Suicide," Hawkes said.

Stella shrugged. "You never know. He's clearly up to his neck in the crap he's been amassing since 1979. But he has a daughter and an ex-wife who will have to deal with his death. There's always a loser, Hawkes. No one ever wins." With gloved hands Stella pulled the tape from around the box's lid and opened in. "Missing evidence," she said. "We'll get this back to the lab for Danny to go through." She looked at what remained of Detective Halmann, sadness and disgust both present.

"I've called Sid," Hawkes said. "I'd say he's been dead about seven hours, which fits with the gunshot heard coming from here. The COD's a gunshot wound to the head. I would imagine that we'd find GSR on his right hand."

"With Casey Truro in prison there probably wasn't much hope that Halmann would be able to get away with what he'd done anymore. Any suicide notes?" Stella said. The box in itself was a suicide note. From what she had glanced there was enough evidence in there to convict Harper of all the crimes he had been suspected of, and she imagined that Halmann's brother and probably Halmann himself were implicated in some of those crimes. Stella pulled out her cell phone and dialled Mac, it was news he needed, and the likelihood was that he was still with Glass, and could pass on the message.

"Halmann's dead," she said when Mac answered. "It looks like suicide. He's left a box of evidence, but no note."

"Keep looking. You never know. I'm just about done here. I've sent Danny and Lindsay back to the lab with evidence already, including the clothes. Glass and I are heading back there now," Mac said.

"Any joy from the gas station surveillance?" she said.

"Nothing as of yet. Adam's taken all the tapes and is looking through them as we speak. We had to get a warrant for them. Turns out there's a load of dodgy stuff going on at that garage. The credit card used was a cloned one, so we can't get an address from that – not that we expected it anyway. Our best hope's the tapes. Queens is too big to go knocking door to door, although if we don't find something soon that's exactly what Flack will be doing," Mac said. Stella heard a car door slam in the background.

"How's he doing?" she said.

"As well as could be expected. If Angell wasn't with him I would have suggested sticking him in one of the cells. Luckily he listens to her. The same cannot be said for his father. He's currently with two of Glass' men. Won't speak."

"Keep me informed. We're waiting for Sid then we're going to process the scene. I'll see you back at the lab," she said, hanging up.

Hawkes looked at her and she shook her head. "Nothing," she said. They both knew that time was running out.

-&-

"Detective Messer," a voice echoed into the lab and Danny looked up. "Detective Messer?"

"Here!" Danny said, feeling like he was back in school doing roll call, except there he hadn't been detective.

D'reen from reception looked over at him and smiled. "Your phones aren't working up here. I've called someone to come sort it out, but in the mean time you've got a Mr Lloyd-Richards waiting for you in interview room three. I did try to tell him that you were busy, but he said it was his case you were busy on."

Danny smiled and nodded, taking a deep breath for D'reen. She spoke quickly and with an exuberance he sometimes found difficult to comprehend. "Thank you. Please let him know I'll be right there." He secured his evidence, knowing that although what Harry might have to say wouldn't be directly relevant to Amelia's disappearance it could lend some understand. "Linds," he called, taking off his white lab coat. "I'm going down to interview the witness from yesterday - the guy from the 1979 case who withdrew his statement. I'll be as quick as I can."

She looked up from the pile of clothes she was examining for evidence. "Sure, Danny," she said. "Mac's on his way back. He mentioned something about getting Quinn Shelby over from New Jersey to give us a hand."

Danny shrugged as he passed her. "We need as many hands on deck as possible. Given what we've brought back from Amelia's and the fact that Stella and Hawkes are coming back with more from Halmann's we're snowed under." He looked at her, knowing the reason for her anxiety about Shelby. "She's not here to report on us this time, Linds. Mac holds her in high esteem and we need more eyes if we're going to find Amelia."

Lindsay nodded. Danny touched the top of her arm, unable to resist wanting to cheer her up, but knowing that he was treading on dangerous ground.

Harry Lloyd-Richards sat down at the table, his head held high. Danny knew Flack hadn't expected him to turn up, figuring that they'd be making another visit to his apartment in a couple of days, but Danny had been optimistic. The guy had clearly wanted to get his thoughts straight in his head. They were probably memories that he hadn't thought about, or tried not to think about, in a couple of decades. And he was here.

Danny sat down, offering Harry his hand to shake. The man took it, making eye contact, looking calm and sure of himself.

"Thank you for coming," Danny said. "Can I get you a coffee or something?"

Harry shook his head. "D'reen gave me a glass of water. I was always going to come, Detective Messer. I just had to decide on how to tell my story."

Danny nodded. "I realise this is hard for you."

"The old case – something new has happened which has brought it back to the surface. Can I ask what?"

Danny nodded. "You might remember Detective Donald Flack who worked on the Harper case in 78/79. Threats that were made to him them came to fruition a few nights ago when his son's apartment was blown up."

Harry nodded. "So it was Flack's son you were with yesterday. I thought I recognised something other than the name. He resembles his father, although he seems to have evolved more. That's by the by of course. You need to know what I can remember and why I retracted my statement?"

Danny nodded. "We've had a kidnapping and we suspect Harper has instigated it." He gave few details, not knowing exactly who Harry was still friends with.

Harry fell silent, clearly in thought. "Harper has people working on the outside for him still? That doesn't surprise me. What you need to know about Matthew Harper is that he is a very seductive man. A complete manipulator. You want to be liked by him and you will do anything to be liked by him." He looked at Danny. "I'll start from the beginning, but I'll keep it brief. I can give details at a better time. Stop me if you need more.

"I met Matthew Harper when I was thirteen. He was twenty-six. I hated home having suffered abuse from my step-father since I was nine. Harper became the best thing in my life. I would go to his apartment after school and he would let me watch TV and take me for burgers. It became a sanctuary." He paused, massaging his temples. "After five months he began to abuse me - sexually." Harry stared at the glass of water in front of him, his fingers stroking it almost. Danny let the silence hang between them figuring the man needed time to gather his thoughts. After the silence was stretched he wondered whether he should offer some prompt. At the same time his mouth opened, Harry continued. "It's taken twenty years of counselling for me to admit it was abuse, that what happened to me wasn't abnormal. After what happened with my step father, Harper was gentle and considerate, and I was used to that type of relationship by now. Although I have been told that he didn't love me, that I was only his toy, I still find that difficult to accept, even now. By the age of fourteen I was living with Harper. My mother didn't care; she was only interested in vodka and had been for as long as I can remember. My step father was scared away by Harper and I was, for a time, happy. Then Harper's friends became involved and only my need for Harper stopped me from running away. I was used as a prostitute; Harper taking the money and paying me with what I thought was his love. As I got older, the demands made upon me became more degrading. My youth disappeared quickly, and I had to compensate for that. By now, I knew of other boys and young men whom Harper and his friends had a hold on, and I began to see the darker, much darker, side of my friend. We would be lent out for days, sent to a house where films would be made." Harry laughed darkly, making sure Danny was aware of his meaning. "Not all the boys made more than one film. I was Harper's favourite, so I was, to a certain extent, looked after…"

"This house," Danny said. "Who did it belong to?"

Harry looked at him. "Harper. It was his mother's and remained in her name even after she died, which is why evidence about it was concealed easily."

"Where was it?"

Harry nodded. "Queens. Near Rockaway Park."

"You remember the address?"

Harry recited it. "I can take you there. If you think that's where the girl's been hidden I'd best come. There are rooms within rooms which were hidden for a reason."

Danny shuddered, reaching for his cell to call Mac. The daytime had come, but the light had still not arrived. It was getting darker.

_For those of you who spotted it, it was wasn't a deliberate mistake, and Sonnet - I changed it on purpose so you had something new to pick up on! More revealed in the next chapter!_

_Forgot to mention - thank you to those of you who have nominated me for the NY Fanfic Awards - I'm honoured._


	22. Chapter 22 When We Be Young

_This is probably my own favourite piece of writing I've ever done. I had the shakes in part of it, knowing what was going to happen._

_Thank you to my reviewer, and to Sonnet Lacewing, as always, for beta-ing._

Chapter Twenty Two – When We Be Young

They sat, in the park, the sun blaring down upon them and their mother suffocating them with sunscreen. Amelia was three and Flack eight. She had caught sight of a rat running into the undergrowth and had followed it, out of his sight for a minute. He remembered the panic, the deluge of adrenaline when he couldn't see her. For a minute or two she was gone. Amy wasn't there. Then he had seen a brown pigtail pop up from in between the leaves of a bush and he had squirted her with his water pistol until she had screamed.

Angell drove through the streets of Queens, navigating her way around illegally parked cars and teenagers who hovered in gangs encroaching on the roads. He glanced at her face; concentration was steeled upon her features, her hair pulled back making her look younger than she was. She had refused to give him the keys to the car, saying that he would kill them before they reached the house, and she was probably right.

The streets were busy, the faces blurring as Angell picked up speed where she could. Mac had called them, giving them the address of where to go, and then Glass had called, issuing strict instructions. At first, Flack had thought he would be made to sit on the sidelines, out of the way, but instead he was to partner Mac, entering the house from the back. He breathed, trying to calm himself, recapping the countless raids and searches he had been on in the past. _This is no different._ He said to himself over and over in his mind. _This is no different_. But it was. Amy was somewhere in that house, having gone through twenty shades of terror. He pushed his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes.

He had suffered from night terrors, waking screaming and drenched with sweat. One winter they had stayed with their father's great aunt and after the first night she had complained about him calling and yelling during the night. The second night he had been woken by his little sister pinching him, hard, on the arm.

"What do you want?" he had said.

"Move up," Amy had kicked him hard, making him shift up towards the cold wall. "I'll chase the night monsters away. They'll be scared of me." And they were.

He opened his eyes as he felt Angell stopping. They were about four blocks away from the house Harry Lloyd-Richards had identified earlier. Danny had checked who the property was registered to, and it did indeed belong to Matthew Harper's mother. It seemed highly likely to be the place where his sister was.

Angell walked alongside him; the façade of calm composure was a good one. She had told him after going undercover once that she had felt her head was going to explode, her heart was pounding so fast. He felt her grab his fingers and squeeze them briefly. "She'll be alive," she said. "If he had killed her, we'd have found her by now."

"Then this whole thing is a trap, isn't it? Etchells knows we'll come after her," Flack said, feeling rain begin to fall.

"Probably," she said. "But we have to go in. We have a clear plan. We have our Kevlars. We're armed. There are more of us. But," she stopped and held him back by the arm, "if you are having doubts you shouldn't go in."

He remembered a holiday, his last with his parents. He'd been nineteen, Amy was fourteen. He'd taken a walk with a pretty girl along the beach at sunset, practising his lines which would one day be mocked by another pretty girl when he'd seen his sister. She was sat with the boy from the apartment next door, a boy who had thought he was all that. He had stopped, the pretty girl looking at him in surprise. Amy kissed the boy on the cheek and ran off, making him chase her, her laughter carrying across the ocean. He had walked on by, refraining from maiming the boy. Amy could take care of herself.

"I'll be fine, Jess. If I can take Etchells' mind off my sister, I'll happily let him shoot me," he said.

"That's not how you should be thinking," Angell said, her tone severe.

That same holiday Amy had come into his room, her face serious, blue eyes concerned.

"The girl," she had said. "Katherine?"

He nodded. His girlfriend's never lasted long enough for his sisters to be interested in remembering their names.

"I saw her last night with Sam who works at the bar. You wouldn't have liked what they were doing," she said, her voice emotionless. "You want to hang out?"

He hadn't, and she had understood. Later that week he noticed that the pretty girl had puffy eyes. "I lent her some mascara," Amy had said. "She must have been allergic."

He saw Mac standing outside a coffee shop, exactly where he'd promised he would be. "Flack," he said. "Glass has told you the procedure. You follow my lead. You have to switch off from the fact that your sister is possibly in the building. I cannot have you putting lives at risk."

Flack nodded. "It's just another case, Mac," he said. They both knew it wasn't.

The day he'd graduated cop school, he remembered her. She'd danced at the party their mom had made him have, just seventeen and sneaking whisky in a tumbler of cola. "So," she had said. "You're here to protect and serve. How about you serve me some more of dad's bourbon?" He had taken the tumbler from her and escorted her up to her room, leaving a pack of painkillers by the side of her bed.

Flack saw the house ahead, looking derelict and in disrepair. Windows were boarded up downstairs and the upstairs glass looked dirty, covered in cobwebs. He shut down the part of his brain that was screaming for his sister, and switched over to being a cop. But the pain remained; a niggling, burning geyser in between his ribs. _This is no different. This is no different._

-£-

Glass sat in his car with Detective Angell beside him. They were waiting until everyone was in place before entering the building. The reconnaissance work had been brief, but thorough, and he was confident that they were as best prepared as they could be. Heavy rain now pelted down, drumming on the car roof and against the windows, the noise working in their favour. It had also cooled the air, helping to relieve some of the tension caused by the humidity, making everyone feel fresher, and more awake. Glass was trying not to think about being awake. Sleep had not found him for forty-eight hours, and it was likely to be at least another twelve before he neared any pillow.

"We will enter the building from the rear first and head upstairs. Once I click my radio, Flack and Mac will enter through the front and head upstairs to make sure it's clear. When we're in, officers in teams of two will enter at staggered intervals, and place themselves around the building. There will be no way out, we know for certain the attics are inaccessible," he said. He knew Angell was aware if these plans, but saying it through once more helped him visualise it. He felt the thud of his heart against his chest, his blood at boiling point. There was something unrecognisable in the air, some tension still there even through the rain. He opened his door, seeing the signal from one of his men across the street from the house. Angell stepped out too, her expression blank, although he knew that inside she would be raging, like they all were.

They headed down the alleyway to the back of the house, rats scattering as their footsteps, however soft, vibrated across concrete. From the back the house looked even more empty, abandoned. But inside he knew it had been painted with horrors, the stuff even nightmares failed to realise.

Four of his men stood behind dumpsters. They had tried to look discreet, but Glass knew there was no point. Etchells was expecting them. This was his plan, his swan song. Whatever hold Matthew Harper held on him was tight enough to make sure that Etchells saw this through to the bitter end. He walked up to the door and pushed it in, the screws already loosened. Angell was behind him, gun set to fire, wrists crossed, her flashlight in her other hand. He could hear her breathing and the sound reassured him.

The kitchen was trashed. A broken plate lay on the floor, an old freezer stood dead. Faint light came in through the cracks in the boards at the window and Glass knew why the place had never been used for vagrants. It contained too many living nightmares. He heard the silent screams as they walked into the living room, a battered sofa sitting there, its cushions knifed, the stuffing falling out and brown. Wallpaper peeled at the ends, the patterns remnants from the seventies' idea of fashion. The carpet was soiled, dirty and stained. His heart continued to pound into his brain as they flicked their flashlights around the room, finding the door that would lead into the hallway. He pulled it open; clearly it had been shut for some years. Etchells had entered the building through the front, and as usual in Queens, no one had seen anything. The three monkeys were well and truly alive there, and breeding.

The hallway was short, leading from the front door to the living room and stairs. The door to the cellar was under the staircase. Angell was closest and made her way to it. Glass could see the fear in her eyes - fear she was trying to hide. He placed a hand on her shoulder and gestured for her to let him go first. He pressed a button on his radio, instructing Mac and Flack to now enter, and the officers at the back to begin infiltrating the building, following their tracks. He had toyed with three of them taking the cellar, but knew that by the time he and Angell had opened the door, there would be back up merely seconds behind.

The cellar door was made of oak. He rubbed his fingers on it, feeling years of strength behind it. The door was unlocked from the outside; no bolts or chains fastened it, although they were there. Rusting now, the awfulness they had once kept secret having ceased for a while until now. Harry Lloyd-Richards had told them that Harper's friends had stopped using the place over ten years ago. It had become in such need of repair that they had abandoned it, finding a new den, one that would be discovered in time.

Glass pushed open the door, shining his light onto stone steps, well worn with feet. He began to step down them, hearing his heart in the eerie silence, the cold of the cellar creeping in his blood, numbing him. He knew from Harry's description that there was a second cellar underneath the kitchen which was where most of the acts had been carried out. Boys had been held there for weeks, in one case months, before they were killed, the need for them having gone. Once they had gotten Amelia out of there forensics would have a field day. If they got her out of there.

He imagined the light as he reached the bottom of the steps, finding himself in an empty room. On the wall he could see the shadows of shackles and he felt himself wretch, his face crinkling with disgust. He heard Angell behind him, and paused, waiting for her to catch up so he could signal their next movements to her. Above them he could hear footsteps, the sounds of his men as they provided back up. He felt no reassurance.

In front of them was the door to the second cellar and it was slightly open. He stood completely still, analysing movements and sounds. He knew that they were not alone, and it was not just the memories, embedded in the walls that he could feel; there was breath, and heartbeats and patience. Behind that door someone was waiting.

He pointed to it, making eye contact with Angell, and wishing he had gone down alone. She was the same age as his daughter and shouldn't be there. In her eyes he missed the fear; instead it had been replaced by determination. She was no longer scared. Adrenaline had kicked in and she was ready for whatever was in there. He pointed to her and to the left hand side of the door. She was to walk around the perimeter of the first cellar, then take her position. He would enter the room first, and in it he expected a monster.

She moved quickly and stealthily. He crept slowly, as if to his last stand. His flashlight was off, the only light coming from the top of the stairs, flashlights from other officers and from Angell's dimmed flashlight, left in the far corner. He could hear movement, someone breathing; rapid, deep breaths, someone waiting. He looked into the blackened room, his other senses working overtime as his eyes were paralysed. Etchells had the advantage. He knew where everything was including the girl. Glass was aware he couldn't shoot blind.

He heard a gasp and a footstep. Experience told him that Etchells was holding the girl in front of him as a shield. Knowledge told him that Etchells was expecting Flack down there. Danny Messer was sharp. Harry Lloyd-Richards had known that it was a girl that had been taken hostage. He had no means of knowing that. Danny had given Harry a ride back to his house to pick up his cell which he had forgotten. He had led Harry to believe that Flack was still on the case and would be searching the house. Glass was in no doubt that the news had somehow gotten back.

Stepping forward was the easiest move he had ever made. Angell moved behind him, switching on his flashlight that she had been carrying and shone it directly into the room, but he was blind to it. In front of him stood Malcolm Etchells, his eyes as cold as the blade in his hand. Etchells clutched Amelia's head to his stomach and slowly dragged her up. Glass heard the gagging noises as more force was applied to her throat, Etchells' forearm crushing her. If he continued the knife in his left arm and the gun in his right would be of no use. She'd already be dead.

"She's been a good girl," Etchells said. "But she wants her brother. Big brother's got a nice shiny gun. Where is he? Is he dead?" He lowered his head and breathed something into Amelia's ear making her eyes widen. Glass became aware of Angell moving behind him, shifting to the left slowly. Etchells' eyes remained on him. "If he's dead I can finish little sister off. Pity my brother's not here. He has his own special way of finishing off pretty girls." He laughed, the noise filling the stagnant air.

"Let her go, she hasn't done anything. She wasn't even born when Harper was sent down," Glass said, moving closer, his gun aimed. He could hear his men outside, in the first cellar. Etchells dragged Amelia towards Glass' right, a step away from the door. He was looking for Flack; that was his true target, his mission. Glass wanted him to move closer to the door, then he would be cornered on all sides. "You can talk to Flack, but you must let her go."

The laughter surged again as Etchells swiftly moved the blade across her cheek and pushed her away onto her knees, the sound of bone hitting the stone sending a sense of sickness into his throat. Etchells moved passed him and pushed the door closed, a nauseating click confirming what Glass had suspected. Etchells turned, lifting his gun and pointing it at Amelia. "You should have brought Flack," he said, his finger pressing down on the trigger as Glass leapt, bringing him down to the floor, the bullet blasting through Glass's collar bone, slipping under the edge of his vest, as his weight pinned Etchells to the floor.

He heard the sound of laughter, of handcuffs clicking and of Angell calling out to the others as he drifted into the unconscious world where his daughter sat on the swings, flying higher and higher, until she would touch the sky.

_Review - tell me what you thought._

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	23. Chapter 23 Broken Arrow

_Firstly, apologies for there being no update yesterday. I'm applying for a head of year role at school and left the appilcation to the last minute (such is my life) and after conjuring up 673 words of persuasion all creative energy had evaporated. Secondly, more apologies for this chapter being so short. Originally, this part of the story should have occured at the end of chapter 22, but I was so wiped after writing that small epic, I couldn't get this down, and its much better standing alone, so really its chapter 22b! I do promise a longer update tomorrow, and I hope this helps some. _

_This chapter has now been bettered by the wonderful Sonnet Lacewing!_

Chapter Twenty Three – Broken Arrow

Angell surprised herself by not panicking. She could hear other officers behind the door, calling to her, Etchells laughing as he wrestled out from under Glass and she could hear Amelia sobbing, still wrecked with terror. She found herself digging one of her trademark stiletto heals into Etchells back, pushing so hard she heard the old material rip and felt the heel sink into flesh as he called out in pain. She pushed down, forcing him onto his stomach and handcuffed him, ignoring the threats and prophesies he was making, finding strength she had never needed to use before.

"Is he alive?" Angell heard Amelia say, he voice hoarse.

"I can see his back moving – he's still breathing," Angell could hear the door being tampered with as the other officers tried to break the lock and get to them. She felt claustrophobic without any windows and no exits, all the time Etchells shouting and muttering. She desperately wanted to go to Glass, to apply pressure on the wound which she could see seeping blood, but the moment she released her grip on Etchells he would doubtlessly attack. "Amy," she said, desperately. "Do you think you could go to him?" She knew the woman was in no fit state to be treating the injured, but if she was cut from the same cloth as her brother she would rather be active and helping.

"What shall I do?" she said, the sobs lessening. Angell heard machinery on the door and someone calling to her. A few seconds, they said. She heard sirens in the distance and knew that the ambulances were on their way.

"Apply pressure to the wound," she said. "We need to stem the bleeding." Etchells began to rage and whine, so she pushed her heel in a little further, using her other knee to pin down at the top of his back.

Flack's voice began to call, rushing people, and Angell heard him taking charge, his voice booming round the first cellar. She felt her pulse rate slow slightly, knowing that assistance was nearly there, the end of the adrenaline passing through her body..

"He's dying," Etchells' voice taunted. "He'll be dead before they get in here." The words were almost sung, a horrific melody. Angell blanked his voice from her mind.

"He's still with us," Amelia said, her voice growing stronger, now focused away from herself, a purpose other than just surviving. "How long do you think they'll be?"

"Not long," Angell said, struggling to breathe, the air in the room tasting stale. She knew it had been only a minute or even less since Etchells had shot Glass, but it was beginning to feel like hours. She felt Etchells rise from underneath her, finding strength in his madness. Her heel pressed in further and she used her arm to force his head back down, hearing his skull hit the hard concrete of the cellar, knocking him out. Finally he quietened, then the door was pulled back and she saw Flack and Mac stood there, flashlights beaming from them.

"Donny!" she heard Amelia call. Paramedics ran passed them, heading towards Glass, one came to Amelia.

"He needs medical attention," Angell said, feeling as if the world was submerging her with people. "He's hit his head." She knew she would have to explain why Etchells was unconscious, but that would come later.

Etchells began to regain consciousness as he was lifted onto a stretcher, two officers having already restrained him. She watched as he left the cellar, Glass already having been taken out. She stood up, people leaving, the scene being secured for the Queens Forensics team to take over and investigate.

"You did a good job in there, Detective Angell," she heard Mac say. It all felt unreal, like she was watching a movie with the screen wrapping round her and sucking her in.

Angell nodded, trying to make herself come to. There would be statements to make, interviews to be held, Glass to visit. "Glass?" she said, making herself walk out of the second cellar, seeing light falling down the stairs. The ceilings began to feel low.

"He's in the ambulance. Flack wants to see you – he's outside with his father and Amelia," Mac said. She felt his arm around her shoulders, supporting her as her feet took her up the steps, the daylight blinding her.

"Jess," she heard Flack through the melee of voices. His arms went round her and Mac turned his head away. She heard the voices grow fainter as people left them alone in the hallway of the house, the door wide open allowing in sun, the rain having gone.

She put her head on his shoulder and let her eyes close, feeling his chin rest lightly on her head, then his lips on her hair. This moment, she knew, would be fleeting. But later there would be time to check that she was alive still, to hear her heart beating. They said nothing; there wasn't the time or the words, just the sensation of light and the warmth of him, his smell and the light pressure of his touch which seemed to be saving her from falling.

"Flack, are you riding with Glass?" an officer said. They moved apart, suddenly aware of their positions and she felt clean air breeze in, the humidity in handcuffs. Flack nodded. "The ambulance is about to leave."

"How is he?" Angell asked, reality seeping back.

"He's regained consciousness," the officer said. She knew she should know his name, but her mind had become a jumble of incidents and calls and cries, the sound of the gunshot still echoing through her head, a rhythmic beat inside her mind.

"Mac will take you to the hospital," Flack said. "I'll see you there." His eyes grounded her, reminding her that she lived as she felt their magnetism, the connection between them still alive.

She walked outside with him, the air fresh and light, a cooling wind strolling through the streets, blowing away the cobwebs of nightmares and leaving daylight reigning.

-£-

Flack looked at the man on the stretcher whose eyes were half-closed. The bullet wound had bled heavily, Glass' shirt dyed crimson, the colour contrasting with the pallor of his skin. Flack had heard Glass' voice as the shot had sounded, frustration almost killing him from behind the locked door to the second cellar. Then he'd heard Jess shout out and had known it was the captain who had taken the shot. He'd felt no relief, only desperation, knowing that Glass was injured and his sister and girlfriend were locked inside with a monster.

"Everyone got out," Glass breathed, almost reading Flack's mind. "Angell should never been in there."

Flack shook his head. "She did well."

"Should…just been me."

"Then you and Amelia would have died," of that he was sure. "Jess distracted him. He expected me."

"He wanted you for Harper," Glass was struggling with his words, his eyes flickering like candles about to be extinguished.

"Hopefully he'll give us something to keep Harper behind bars for good," Flack said, anxious to keep him talking, to make sure he didn't slip back into that world between this and the next.

Glass smiled. "We have enough. You'll sort it all out."

"Stay talking to me," Flack said, desperation noting in his voice.

"What do you want to talk about?" Glass said, trying to keep his eyes open.

"You. Tell me about you," Flack said, the paramedic checking Glass' vitals. The sirens blared as the ambulance tore through the streets of Queens.

"Nothing to tell. Tell me how your father is," Glass said.

Flack fought for something to say, feeling cold iron in his stomach. "I'm not concerned with my father," he heard his harsh words and saw a look of pain cross Glass' face. "Amelia looks as if she's going to be okay."

"Your sister's a tough cookie. We all do things we regret with our children and none of it is ever meant," Glass said, his voice little more than a whisper. The paramedic nodded and smiled at Flack, silently telling him to keep talking to Glass.

"My father could have avoided this situation completely. Amelia needn't have been put through all of this," Flack said, finding himself itched by the conversation.

"She'll get through it. We've got the bad guys," Glass said, looking paler.

"We could have got them twenty-nine years ago."

"I could have been a better father myself, Don. One day you'll realise that yourself, when you've got kids and they've grown up," Glass said, his eyes glazed. Flack was unsure whether that was with pain or something else.

"I'll be a better father than mine was."

"Is," Glass corrected. "He's still your father. We can spend our lives trying to atone, but if there's no one there to forgive then we live in purgatory. Is that your punishment for him?"

Flack fell silent as his eyes met Glass'. "I never knew you had kids," he said.

Glass smiled. "My daughter died two days ago."

"I'm sorry – I didn't…" he stopped short, Glass' eyes closing as the ambulance came to a stop, a machine making a long whining noise that seemed to pierce the air like a knife. Everything stilled, the smile on Glass' lips remained and Flack felt a whirlwind around him as he stood still, inert, incapable.

"He's arresting! Move out of the way!" one of the paramedics called.

Flack watched from a distance as they began to use their machines to bring a man back to life and he wondered if he should do the same.

_I love reviews very much, by the way!_

_You can now vote for your favourite CSI Fics etc by going into the CSI:NY forums page (you must be logged in and you can only vote once per category). There are loads of brilliant writers in this fandom so let them know you care without sending chocolates!_

_This story has been nominated for :-_

_Best OC (Captain Glass)_

_Best Flack/Angell fic_

_Best Flack/Angell author_

_Best WiP_

_Best Mini Epic_

_Best Author_

_Best Case Fic_

_Best Multi Chapter Fic_

_Thank you to all of those who nominated me, Glass and this fic. I won't waffle on about how honoured I am etc because I'm English and don't show public emotion, however, you've made me very happy because this is my first NY chapter fic (I have done some one shots centred around Flack and Danny previously) and it's such a compliment that people have enjoyed this. The same goes for the reviews - I have written stories that have done very well for reviews, but never have they been the length the reviews for Hotwired have been._

_Right, very tired now and I waffled enough._

_Hugs _


	24. Chapter 24 The Watch

_Thank you for the reviews._

_This chapter has now been edited, many thanks to Sonnet Lacewing as usual :)_

Chapter Twenty-Four – The Watch

Voices circled him like vultures, the sounds of metal reverberating round his mind. He didn't like hospitals. Several weeks in one had not increased his liking for the institutions and the smell of disinfectants and medicines were making him feel nauseous, a fact he found ironic. He had seen his sister who was now a bubbling ball of anger, any resemblance of victim had gone and she was now more indignant than scarred. He didn't doubt that she would have reoccurring nightmares for months, if not years, but she had always had a sense of perspective. She was alive and she knew she was lucky.

"Detective Flack?" a pretty nurse stepped out of the room. Flack stood, not knowing if the news she was about to give him was going to make him sit down. "Captain Glass is out of the operating room. I believe he has no immediate relatives?"

He shook his head. "He has an ex-wife in Minnesota, but has specified on his notes that he does not want her contacted in any event."

The nurse nodded. "He's still in a critical condition. It really is touch and go. I guess it depends on him." She gave him a wan smile which he did not return. Emotions pounded at him like fists which he had given up fighting. He had learnt a long time ago that there was no point in ever taking refuge in guilt, and although he couldn't redirect the finger that pointed at him he knew his role in the case had been predestined by a man who he could no longer bear to stand in the same room with.

Glass' words returned to haunt him, calling for him to forgive his father, but those emotions were punching elsewhere. He sat back down, resting his head in his hands, elbows balanced on knees. The room drowned him. A man he had not known long enough lay a few metres away fighting for his life, facts about him only revealed now he was no longer able to guard them.

Flack closed his eyes and heard the bullet as it left Etchells' gun. It was a sound that would continue to ricochet through his mind, a silent sound that would remind him of being four years old and playing outside with a ball as his father sat stony faced watching him, the weight of many worlds on his shoulders. Weight he had passed onto his son and spilled onto his daughter.

The nurse appeared again and told Flack he could visit Glass for a few moments. He stood at the entrance to the room, the door closing behind him silently. Glass lay on his back, eyes closed, faced stained white. His chest rose and fell; a mesmerising motion.

Flack left the room. Even the eyes of the unconscious were upon him.

-&-

The door to his office closed and Mac drew the blinds, needing darkness. He preferred the shadows of dark sometimes, the peace that they brought. The sun had brought an almost end to the nightmarish days, but self-enforced dusk seemed apt right now. He sat at his desk, switching off the hum of the computer and lending a few minutes to echoing silence. The lab was busy of course, it rarely stopped, much like the city it lived in, but its sounds were blockaded and Mac could allow himself a few minutes before travelling to the hospital to relieve Flack. It was the night watch, the death watch. They had done it before when it had been Flack lying there, somewhere between life and death, in another world of which he had no recollection. They had never said their goodbyes and there had been no need.

Glass was different. He was new to the city and had been an enigma, a mystery with all the speculation and conjecture his smoky past had brought. But then, anyone who had lived carried baggage, he knew that only too well.

The sleepless nights had become more fruitful from what they used to be. He had lived an insomniac's life after Claire had died, burrowing into work, the stories of the dead filling the gaps she had left. Now his eyes could close and sleep would come almost easily. In Glass he had seen a reflection of himself; the ghosts still haunted him too, although they were quieter now.

Mac saw Adam as he made his way over, his face sombre. Adam knocked at the door and waited for Mac to tell him to enter. It was a foible Mac overlooked. "Any news on Captain Glass?"

"He's out of the operating room. I'm heading over to the hospital to relieve Flack in a moment so I'll call and let you know more when there's more to know," Mac said.

Adam nodded, not leaving. "He was a nice guy."

"He still is a nice guy, Adam. Having a bullet go through you doesn't stop that," Mac said, standing, his morose thoughts interrupted.

"I just hope he's okay." Adam said.

"He will be, Adam," Mac said. "One way or another."

-&-

The fresh heat of outside meant that the diner was empty. People preferred to eat al fresco when the weather was like this. Promises of thunder had gone, leaving them with an over-exposed light that seemed to highlight the fractures in the city, the fractures in them. The quiet rush of inside allowed her to sit alone, undisturbed. Stella sipped an iced tea, grimacing at the taste. She still hadn't slept, her mind wandering to depths she rarely opened.

"Can I get you something else, Stell?" the waitress asked.

"Iced coffee, please," she replied, pushing away the drink she had now. Glass had liked iced tea, or had at least found it interesting. She found she missed coffee too much, preferring to keep her loyalties.

Her eyelids were heavy with lack of sleep, her eyes dry with a tiredness that would not be saturated. Outside she heard signs of a scuffle, quickly dealt with by the diner's owner. The heat seemed to reproduce violent behaviour, along with the alcohol and people's inhibitions being melted by the sun. The brightness was blinding; through the windows the evening sun crept, creating rainbows.

Today wasn't a day for rainbows.

Stella drank the iced coffee, its bitterness waking her. The hospital was a good walk away, but she wanted the exercise, needing something to stir the blood in her veins, to keep her moving instead of stagnating there like she herself had been shot.

She liked Glass. She identified a song in him that resonated within her. Life had not been served to him on a silver platter, instead he had fought for it, and victory had brought him honesty. The evening before, she had briefly felt an awaking of emotions which lay dormant so long, she'd forgotten they could exist. The seeds of something had been planted, but now the sun was drying up the soil, and the chance of blooms had faded.

She left more money than she needed for the check and headed to the hospital on foot, the sun's heat not ceasing even those its light was starting to fade.

-&-

The door creaked open, inside a familiar scene. The gifts she had bought were still in their bag on the sofa, the curtains still drawn, keeping out the light from the too bright sun. Cracks of light fought their way in, highlighting the dust flying aimlessly in the air. Angell sat down on the sofa, feeling relief at finally being home after what seemed like a lifetime away. Two officers with a specialism in detecting bombs had been into her apartment earlier and checked it, finding no cause for concern. Life could begin to return to how it had been before. Almost.

She had seen Glass at the hospital; he lay there, a smile upon his wan face as if he had reached some sort of nirvana. Flack was silent, his only words coming through touch as he had wrapped an arm around her, pulling her to him.

Her eyes brimmed with unspent tears as she recalled the minutes in the second cellar. If Glass hadn't have moved when he did, the bullet would have hit Amelia. Now it wasn't just the sound of the gun being fired that Angell heard, but the other woman's scream as she had realised that what she had feared for days was about to finally happen, even with the cavalry stood there. But it hadn't happened. Instead the bullet had found Glass, sneaking a way into his skin, above the bullet-proof vest.

She blocked the horror of the next few minutes from her mind, instead picking herself up and making her way towards her bedroom. She could still smell Flack there, his presence hadn't faded, and she didn't think it would, no matter how many times she washed the sheets. She lay down on the bed, the tears finally coming and she wiped them away madly. With four brothers, you learnt not to cry.

Her heart raced, eyelids closing to stem the droplets of salt waters. But they still found a way out, a release.

-&-

The hospital's canteen was almost empty. Those who could had taken their food outside, enjoying the last of the day's heat and being away from the hospital's clinical atmosphere. Detective Sergeant Davy Angell sat alone at the table, eating a spicy chicken roll, although he debated that either of the two main ingredients had been included. He had arrived without warning having heard what had happened in the cellar at the house in Queens. Since his daughter hadn't expected him, he'd missed her by moments. For the present, he knew, she would be better on her own, to sort through in her mind what had happened. Tomorrow they would see her, and his wife would check she was well with her own eyes.

Davy Angell looked up from his sandwich and saw a familiar figure darken the room. Almost thirty years and little had changed except for the expanding waistline, which he himself could also lay claim to. He stood up, knowing what Donald Flack had gone through in the past few hours, years even, and headed over, leaving the remains of the sandwich alone.

Donald looked up, his expression downcast. He nodded a greeting, a sign of recognition, but nothing else left him.

"You've been lucky," Davy said. "Your little girl's alright."

Donald nodded. "I should apologise to you. My actions put your daughter in danger." His tone lacked expression.

"Jessica can look after herself," Davy said, sitting down opposite Donald. He had no worries for Jessie. "It's the Captain we should be thinking of."

"Glass," Donald said, an untouched cup of coffee next to him. "He moved in front of the gun when he realised it was about to go off."

"He did what any of us would have done," Davy said. "He protected."

"It should have been me who protected my daughter," Donald said, refusing eye contact.

"Can't change the past, Donald. You have to live through your mistakes," Davy said. He felt no sympathy for past errors. Regret was a wasted emotion. There were better feelings to spend time on.

"Did you ever know?" Donald said, looking up finally.

Davy nodded. "About the affair or the botched investigation?"

Donald managed a wry half smile. "I was obvious?"

"No. I was a good detective. I only knew about the investigation after it had been to trial," Davy said. "When did you end it?"

"Two months after the trial ended," Donald said.

"You should tell your son," Davy told him, a cool breeze blowing in through open windows.

Donald nodded. "When do we stop being their heroes?"

Davy laughed softly. "We don't. The more they know us, the more human we become. But we never stop being heroes, they just realise they can be ours too." He stood up, pushing his chair under. "I'll no doubt see you soon. Lois and I are staying for a couple of weeks. Speak with him, Donald. Tell him what happened."

The other man nodded, drank the cold coffee, and Detective Sergeant Angell left to return to his hotel, to meet his wife and watch the red rays of sunset linger over New York.

-&-

He watched her as she brushed her hair, a simple action. The only noise was the sound of the bristles running through and separating the dark brown locks, the action mesmerising. The open windows blew the curtains into the room, then sucked them back against the window pane. The night was breathing.

Flack moved forward and ran a finger down her bare back, feeling cool skin. He had returned to her apartment after leaving the hospital and had found her asleep, curled into a ball on the bed. His presence had woken her, the chemistry they shared stunting sleep, and then they had made love. Made love. The words sat in his mind as he took the brush from her hand and began to comb through her long hair. The act seemed intimate, and they were afraid of breaking it, of fracturing the still air, wired with combined senses. Words were useless. Instead he could read what was written on her, what was written on her body, just like she could use her fingers to decipher him.

She took the brush from him and placed it back on the dresser, then lay back on the bed, her eyes meeting his. Brown eyes that mocked him and teased him and now looked at him, seeing his thoughts.

They didn't need speech.

Flack placed a hand across her bare abdomen, turning to face her on the bed as they lay down. Night had come; its black velveteen dress covered with stars and a calmness, the material unruffled, its owner had stopped dancing for now. He watched as her eyes closed, long lashes falling onto smooth skin. Made love, he thought. It was a term he'd never used before.

-&-

He was aware of the beeping of the machines as they disturbed what would have otherwise been a peaceful foray to see his daughter. Something had kept on stopping him, voices of people he knew, people he didn't know, strange sounds of an unfamiliar place.

Glass could see Michelle as she was when he had left her in the care of people who could do far more for her than he could. Brown eyes looked up at him as she waved, becoming forever distant. He heard a door open and was aware of someone sitting beside him. More voices. A short laugh. Michelle walking away, a baby's giggle. Later, she said. Much later.

Then he felt a sense of silence; the voices gone, the beeping disappeared, his awareness of it ceasing. The weight he had carried left him and he flew into a world of light. His little girl was safe. He could rest.

_This was a bit of an experimental chapter, inspired by Lily Moonlight's fics. It didn't turn out quite the way I'd planned as those characters will do their own thing, but met me know what you think - liked it, hated it etc, all comments welcome._

_Please review - and thank you to those people who have already._


	25. Chapter 25 Land of a Thousand Words

_Thank you to those who have reviewed, you definitely keep me motivated to write this fic. I have tried to reply to everyone, to those who have reviewed without logging in, thank you for your time, its great to get your comments and thoughts._

_Thank you to Sonnet Lacewing for beta-ing._

_The chapter title is taken from the title of a song by Scissor Sisters_

Chapter Twenty Five – Land of A Thousand Words

Her hair was a mess; long tendrils mixed with cropped sections, no evenness to it. Danny knew it had been hacked at with kitchen scissors; they had been found in the second cellar along with other paraphernalia related to the murders of the other girls.

Amelia laughed, and Danny found himself feeling embarrassed, realising that he had been staring at her hair. "I've fancied a 'pixie' cut for a while," she said. "I guess Etchells forced my hand, but maybe I needed a little push in the right direction. How are you, Danny? Long time no see."

He'd first met Amelia Flack about five years ago when he'd gone round to Flack's parents for his mom's corned beef dinner. Amy had been there with a new boyfriend, a nice enough guy who she'd cheated on a few weeks later. Flack had often described Amy as being the female version of him, a serial monogamist. "I'm good," he nodded, folding his arms. "You sure you're okay doing this now? You don't need more time?"

She shook her head. "You need my statement as soon as possible. Besides, the sooner I've told you al of this, the sooner I can go on vacation. And look for a new home."

"You staying with your folks?" he asked.

"For a while. Obviously I can't go back there. No big strong man to protect me," the last line was teasing and playful. He mentally reminded himself that this was Flack's sister, and the only reason that she was like this with him was to wind up her brother.

"You're dealing with this well," he said, wondering if all of this was a mask.

Amy shrugged. "I'm a Flack. Flack's deal. We always have a snarky comeback. Etchells picked the wrong girl to mess with."

Danny nodded. "Before we continue," he said. "I'm going to start the tape so you don't have to repeat yourself." He began the recording, stating the date, time and their names. "Amelia, can you tell me what happened on Wednesday morning?"

"I got home just as the newspaper boy was delivering. I'd been out with some people from work and had ended up falling asleep at a friend's place. I got a cab back in the early hours as it was inconvenient for them to have me be there in the morning. The house seemed as normal when I entered it. I went into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee and I saw Etchells stood there. He lunged at me and missed a few times. I was almost at the back door when he got hold of me and hit me with something. The next thing I knew I was in that cellar in the pitch black and half my hair had been chopped off."

"What happened while you were in the cellar?" Danny said, amazed at her resilience.

"He had me tied up. I think I was attached to something on the wall as my hands had enough movement to be able to drink. Etchells came and went. I had no idea of time as I didn't see daylight."

"How did he hurt you?"

She shook her head. "The only injuries I've had have been from the chains he used. He threatened me; he would describe how he would like to kill me and Don, and he talked a lot about how he would be Matthew's favourite boy. I tried not to listen to it. I figured when he hadn't killed me straight away that there was a good chance he didn't intend on doing it. I thought I was probably bait for Don. He seemed to be fascinated with him," she stopped, holding her head in her hands. Danny was glad of the show of emotion, afraid that she was bottling it all up for some big explosion. "I was so glad when Don didn't walk in, and it was Glass and Detective Angell instead." Tears broke out of her eyes. "How is Glass? It should have been me on the receiving end of that bullet."

"He's the same as he was last night," Danny said. "And Glass would rather it be him in hospital than you. That's the kind of man he is."

She nodded. "I jus hope he hangs around and I can say thank you. Angell was good too. If it wasn't for her being so quick Etchells would have finished the rest of us off. I can see why big brother is so crazy about her."

"Can you remember anything else?" he prompted.

"So much." She began to recount the minutes spent inside the cellar, reciting Etchells' words that seemed to have been formed in the darkest recesses of Hell's asylum. He let her speak, interrupting infrequently and by the end of it, she had given a comprehensive statement.

"Have I done okay?" she said, looking tired. It had taken over two hours and Danny was feeling exhausted himself.

He nodded. "That was good and thorough."

"I can get on with dealing with it now," she said, standing up.

"You seem to be dealing with it pretty well," Danny said, stretching.

She shook her head. "You needed me to give that statement. As soon as I have nothing else to do but dwell on it, I'll crack. Hopefully that'll be on a beach somewhere, where I can get over it in my own time. But for now, my parents and brother need me to be strong."

Danny nodded, agreeing with what she said. He had needed Rikki Sandoval to deal with Ruben's death. Now she was gone and he had to deal with it on his own. There was Lindsay, of course; Lindsay who said she loved him, Lindsay who needed him one minute and pushed him away the next. He knew he had sent mixed signals too, and that however convenient it was to take refuge in her, or to find company it, wasn't the thing to do.

He found her in the lab once he had seen Amelia back to where her mother was waiting for her, about to finish her shift.

"Hey, Danny," she said, smiling at him. He felt his stomach drop into his knees.

"Linds," he said. "You got a minute?"

She nodded, moving over to him. "I know what you're going to say and it's okay. We are better as friends."

"How did you know I was going to say that?" he said, surprised at her calm demeanour.

"Because I've been thinking about it too. Things are too complicated right now. What should have been fun has ended up being some tangled mess and it's not going to work if we tiptoe around each other," he saw a flash of sadness cross her face.

"I'm sorry, Montana," he said. She had pre-empted him.

"I'm sorry too, Messer," she said, the smile forced and false, but still there. "There should be no guilt, you know."

He gave her a wan smile, grateful she's by-passed the guilt phase. "Enjoy the rest of the day," he said, the words mechanical, but what was there left to say? It had ended, easier than he deserved. A chasm had opened between them, but over time, he knew, bridges would be built.

He felt guilt at his sense of relief.

-&-

The tap on the door was familiar, a jocular rhythm so complicated that there could only be one person responsible for it. Angell stood up, leaving the sofa from where she had been writing notes and went to answer it. She heard the shower stop and a small smile passed her lips. She had never known a man take so long to get ready.

"Dad," she said as the door opened. Her father stood there, her mother a few steps behind, eyeing something in the hallway.

"Jessica," he said, enveloping her in a hug that reminded her of why she had nicknamed him 'Daddy Bear' as a small girl, a fact Flack would never learn.

"You look tired," her mother said.

"Slight understatement," Angell said. "And before you ask, I'm on leave after tomorrow."

"Good. We can go shopping. I'm sure your father will be interested in lending us his credit card for a few hours," Lois said, pretending that her husband was completely out of earshot. Angell laughed as her father's eyes bulged out of their sockets. The last time he had done that they had almost had to call the paramedics when he had opened the bill.

"I assume the footsteps I can hear are Detective Flack's and not some intruder?" her father said, raising his eyebrows.

Angell nodded, refusing to be drawn into any further conversation, especially with her mother's ears pricking up.

"This is a one bedroom apartment, Jessie. One of you must be rather uncomfortable sleeping on the sofa?" Lois' eyes gleamed as she entered the apartment, giving her daughter a knowing look. "So are we going to meet your beau or is he going to continue hiding in the shower?"

"I thought you were here to see how I was," Angell said. "Not to assess my personal life."

Her mother sat down on the sofa, assessing the apartment. She had already pointing out of its faults on a previous visit, but Jess knew that she would find something else. Angell rolled her eyes as her mother's mouth opened. Her words were cancelled as Flack appeared from the bedroom with wet hair. Three pairs of eyes fastened themselves onto him, and Angell found herself rather enjoying his look of discomfort.

"It's nice to meet you again," Davy Angell held out his hand as Flack entered the living room. "The last time I saw you, you were wearing short trousers and carrying around action men figures."

Flack laughed, shaking her father's hand. "I still have all of those figures. I could probably make the deposit for my next apartment by selling them on eBay," he paused while Davy laughed. "It's nice to meet you again."

"It's nice to find you alive and well," Davy said. "I hear you've been having a tough time of it."

"That would be one way to phrase it," Flack said. "I've had friends to help though." He looked at Angell. She smiled, forgetting that her parents were in the room for a second.

"This is Lois, Jessica's mom," Davy said. "My daughter does have manners somewhere."

Angell watched as Flack greeted her mother, kissing her briefly on the cheek. They had talked that morning about whether he wanted to be there when her parents arrived, or whether he'd rather meet them another time. She had been surprised when he'd said he'd stick around. Her father was an intimidating proposition, and although Flack was not intimidated easily, she would have understood if he'd decided to skip this. "It's nice to meet you," Lois said to Flack. "Are you going to make us some coffee, Jessica? Or shall we find a Starbucks?"

Angell shrugged. "Which ever you'd prefer. We've got a couple of hours before we're back on shift, and we'd like to call in at the hospital before."

"I've had a call from Mac," Flack said, looking at Angell, his blue eyes intense. "Glass seems more relaxed than he did last night. His heart rate's steadier. He's by no means in the clear, but the doctors are saying he could pull through."

The small apartment fell quiet, the light breeze ceasing any stillness, causing shadows to dance.

"Make us some coffee, Jessie," her father said. She nodded. It wouldn't have mattered if Etchells had had a gun pointed at her head the day before, he would still be matter-of-fact, saying that the best way to get over something was to get back to normal. She knew that method worked. Several times while growing up she had visited the hospital after he had suffered altercations with various criminals, including being shot twice. Once home, his response had been to spend time with her and her brothers, supervising homework, watching movies and once he was well enough, playing games; hide and seek and soccer. At one point she remembered wishing that he could be 'poorly' for longer and then she would have more time with him. But work was the second biggest part of his life, and not going back to it would have been like stopping breathing.

"I saw your father yesterday," Davy said. Angell began to make the coffee, listening closely to what was being said a short distance away. There was a silence. Angell knew Flack would be wondering what to say. He had all but disowned his father. "Are you going to speak with your dad?" Davy said, to the point as usual.

"There's not much to say. We haven't exactly been the best of friends for a few years," Flack said. Angell could hear the steel in his voice.

"I was like that with my father. I guess I got lucky with my sons, but I learnt from my father's mistakes. And that's what they are, Don. Mistakes," Davy said. Angell noticed her mother moving towards her.

"Mom, do not start cleaning out cupboards," she said in a whisper, knowing her mother's propensity for cleanliness. She felt the glare before she saw it.

"He needn't have made them," Flack said, almost inaudibly.

"No? If your father hadn't have made those mistakes, you would never have caught Malcolm Etchells, not until he'd killed more. You'd never have gotten hold of Casey Truro. You'd never have been sat here in Jessica's apartment. Hindsight's a wonderful thing if you have a time machine, but without one it's a waste of time. You have to accept what's happened and let him try to put it right," Davy said. Angell recognised the tone in her father's voice and found herself stopping her task, listening to him fully instead. "Otherwise you will end up with regrets yourself." There was a long pause. Angell couldn't see but she imagined it was filled with pained expressions and gestures from Flack. "Stubbornness was always in your nature. It took me kidnapping your favourite action man before you handed over your pacifier. And that was after much negotiation." There was a roar of laughter and the tension broke. "Where's that coffee, Jessica?"

They sat in the small apartment, drinking coffee and exchanging banter which came naturally to all four of them. Afterwards, when they went to the hospital, Flack held her hand. She knew she didn't want him to let go.

_Please review!_


	26. Chapter 26 Climb a Ladder up to the Sun

_Thank you to Sonnet Lacewing for the beta as always._

_Reviews have been low on the ground for the past few chapters compared with the earlier ones - I'm having a confidence crisis that the story's not being written the way people want it to be. Please let me know your thoughts._

Chapter Twenty Six – Climb a Ladder up to the Sun

Mac stared at the man sat at the table across from him. He looked like somebody's uncle. It never failed to surprise him how the most monstrous of killers could look so pathetic and small. Etchells' rabbit-like features were still; his wide eyes looked up at Mac in fear, bottom lip quivering in expectation of being hit.

Mac knew it was just a game, an act - Etchells' last attempt to play with something before he killed it. But Mac had dealt with bigger predators than Etchells. "Have you anything you'd like to say before I start?"

"Not really. I'll be pressing charges for the damage that bitch has done to my back," Etchells said. "Sticking her heal in it, the whore." His eyes narrowed and Mac saw the hatred in them. "They're all the same. All of them. Can't be trusted."

Mac didn't say anything about Angell. Any accusations against her would not stick. She had apprehended him. If she hadn't have done it then there was a good chance that Glass, Angell and Amelia would have been killed in that second cellar. "We found the clothes you left in Amelia Flack's home. They belonged to your mother. Why did you keep hold of them for so long?" Stella had found long dark hairs on some of the garments and mDNA results confirmed that the garments had been worn by Etchells' mother.

Etchells was silent.

"You don't like talking about your mother, do you? Why is that?" Mac pushed.

Still no answer.

"Tell me about Matthew Harper instead. You met whilst in prison."

Etchells face lit up at the mention of Harper's name. "He is my friend," he said simply.

"How have you been in contact with him since you left prison?" Mac said, watching Etchells' whole demeanour change with the new topic.

"His friend's boy goes to see him, once, twice a week. He brings me messages," Etchells said, his shoulders relaxing.

"What's the name of his friend's boy?" Mac said, calm, casually.

Etchells shrugged. "It was never relevant. I didn't see him. The boy brought the messages to my friend, and he passed them onto me."

"Who was the name of the man you visited?" Mac said. He wasn't one for mind games; although he knew that Etchells would have been a good subject to play them with.

"He was one of yours. An ex-police officer, that was how we knew so much," Etchells looked pleased with himself; Mac ignored the look.

"When did you go to see Andy Halmann?" he said. Etchells knew he was beat, that the game was over. But he was pleased with himself, and quite happy to share what he thought were his victories.

"Every few days. I knew what Harper wanted. He was trusting me to keep in touch. Andy couldn't contact me because that would leave a trail, so I'd go every other night. This week I went every night," Etchells said. "You going to tell Matty all of this?"

Mac saw where this was leading. The body language, the tone, it was all there. Etchells was infatuated with Harper. It didn't seem surprising. Etchells clearly hated women which was why Mac was doing the interview on his own, without Lindsay or Stella. Stella was watching through the glass; Mac knew how she would be feeling now towards Etchells.

"Why do you want Harper to know all this?" Mac said. "You failed in your task. Harper's plan has been discovered. He won't get parole even though Detective Flack didn't say anything, and that was the whole reason you were attacking his son and kidnapped his daughter wasn't it?"

Etchells looked at him coldly. "I didn't give Harper away. It was that idiot Casey Truro who ruined things by killing that stupid shrink. Matty knows that. He knows I'm too clever to have given things away and when I get hold of Casey I'll skin him till his bones shine." The words were said with a dark fury that made Mac believe Etchells was more than capable of it. "I've been getting away with it for years – it'll all come out now, you'll find what I've done and how you were powerless to stop it; always blaming someone else, always letting me off the hook. Do you know how many times I've been questioned without being arrested even though it was me? Thirty-two. Thirty-two chances you had to stop me and you couldn't. Incompetent, inept fools. That was why Matthew chose me. I was reliable."

"You were his fool, Malcolm. He was using you to do his dirty work. You, Halmann and Truro. You were his court jesters. He had a hold on you all and you were all too foolish to do anything about it. He promised Casey revenge for his father, he blackmailed Halmann because Halmann was involved with Harper in the abuse of those boys and he had you tied around his little finger," Mac's voice began to rise in volume as Etchells shrank back into the chair. He had refused a brief as Mac had predicted. Etchells wanted to go back to jail, because that was where Harper was.

"I am not his fool. Yes, the other two might have been, but Matthew does not see me as a fool. He would have come to me when he was released. Now because of 'the fools' I'll have to go to him," Etchells said.

"You realise," Mac said, sitting back in his seat, away from the fire that was Etchells. "That you would not be placed anywhere near Harper. You would have no contact." He watched Etchells' face as it morphed into its demonic form.

"You don't understand," Etchells said, his voice eerily calm. "Matthew would see to it that we were together."

"He hasn't contacted you personally in over nine months, yet you still have the notion that Harper in some way still cares for you. Don't you think he's moved onto the next person, Malcolm? Prison is a busy place," Mac said. There was no way that Etchells could talk himself out of life without parole, but they still needed more evidence against Harper to bring fresh charges. It seemed unjustifiable that he should be left out of the repercussions.

Etchells sat stony faced and silent, staring at Mac through eyes framed by huge, long eyelashes.

Mac stood up. He had done enough for now. More information would be revealed now that doubt had been planted in Etchells' mind about Harper. The seeds would grow, and then Etchells would take revenge. And for those involved, that revenge would be sweet.

-&-

"Don."

It wasn't the name that made him look up from his desk but the voice. Flack lifted his head and saw his father stood there, grim and desolate.

"I need to talk to you."

Flack resisted the quip that crouched on his tongue ready to pounce, remembering Davy Angell's words and Glass' advice.

"There should be a free interview room," he stood up, refusing eye contact with one of the people he shared DNA with and led the way, a way Flack was certain his father knew already, but this was his territory now.

The door closed behind them and Flack gestured to sit down. His father hesitated at first, then took the second chair. "It might not be worth sitting down," Donald Flack said. "You might ask me to leave fairly quickly."

Flack shrugged. "What do you want to say? This isn't the greatest of times. I'm due to go and interview Matthew Harper at Attica in less than an hour."

"He can wait. The anticipation will turn him on. I know Harper, Donnie, I knew him well," a look of disgust crossed his father's face.

"So tell me what you know like you should have done a week ago, before Detective Angell had to move out of her apartment, before I nearly got blown to shreds by a car bomb, before one of the finest cops I've worked with was shot, before my sister was abducted. Have I made my point?" Flack heard his voice rise as the fury and frustration poured out.

Donald Flack nodded. "I couldn't tell you. Glass knew. Jessica's father knew way back when," he paused. "You need to know."

"So tell me."

"I realised that Halmann was a bent cop when we began working on the Harper case. Evidence showed that his brother was involved. As lead, I suggested he leave the investigation. Halmann refused and told me he knew I was having an affair with another cop, Gail Freeman. He threatened to tell your mom."

Flack felt himself go pale and the room went suddenly hot. He had never suspected that his father had been anything but faithful throughout his thirty-seven year marriage.

"I knew that it would be the end. She was pregnant with Amy at the time – just, and she'd had a miscarriage before that, so I was between a rock and a hard place. She was so fragile I just couldn't risk upsetting her so I turned a blind eye; Halmann's brother played a very small part, or so it seemed at the time - you may have found evidence to the contrary," Donald stopped, pausing for breath and to let what he had said sink in.

Flack's limbs felt numb and unmovable. His brain was telling him to hit his father; all respect had flown out of the window, and like his father had sometimes been known to do, he was thinking with his fists, only he was frozen.

"I kept my mouth shut," he said, the pain of guilt clear on his face. "It gnawed at me day and night and I spent months wondering how I could confess to your mother without ruining what I had with her and my children. But the day I went in to interview Harper with Halmann they joined forces against me. If I said anything, if I came clean to your mother about the affair they would kill you. By this time I knew that reporting the blackmail would not matter. There were so many people involved that I knew there was no way you could have been protected. As the years went by I forgot about it somewhat. The affair ended…"

"When? When did it end? Because I remember Gail Freeman at my sixth birthday party, Dad," Flack said, interrupting, the fire in his stomach roaring up through his throat.

"I ended it when Amelia was born. Gail and I stayed friends," Donald said, almost seeming like he was justifying the whole affair.

"So even after Halmann found out about it you still kept it up?"

"Things were difficult, Donnie. The threats were hard to deal with. Your mother was all encompassed with you, your brother and the new baby – and no, I'm not blaming her, she had every right to be. I needed someone – millions of men have been in the same predicament…"

"You mean used the same excuse," Flack sat back in the chair and tried to let the anger rush out of him.

"You see things in black and white; there are shades of grey as well, son. You have to see those too."

"There are only shades of grey when you haven't made your mind up because you're scared. I'm sorry, Dad," he struggled with the title. "but there's no excuse."

His father looked at him, remorse in his eyes. "I told your mother ten years ago. She forgave me. I'm hoping you can do the same."

Flack said nothing, letting the silence hang like a dagger between them Then he exploded. "What will you tell my sister? The one who's spent three nights with a madman because you couldn't keep your pants on? Because that's what it comes down to. How will you explain to her why she's been to hell and back?"

"I don't know. How can I tell her?"

Flack looked down at the table, not wishing to speak any more. It didn't matter what Glass and Davy Angell had said, he couldn't forgive him, not yet.

His father stood up and walked to the door. "I hope you'll be in touch," he said. Flack heard the sadness in his voice and it wrenched his gut. He fixed his eyes directly ahead as he heard the door close, his father leaving the room and Flack realised he'd finally left the action man figures behind.


	27. Chapter 27 Air

_Only the epilogue left after this! Thank you to Sonnet Lacewing for the beta as always :)_

Chapter Twenty Seven – Air

Harper sat down in front of him, escorted by two guards. Flack nodded at them and they left, assuring him that they would be outside if he needed them. The room was white and clean; a different shade completely to the man who sat in front of him. The air as tarnished and stale; lifeless like the place the room sat it. Flack was not a religious man particularly, but he knew Harper's soul was marked. Already, after being in Harper's presence for a minute made him feel as if he needed to bathe in disinfectant.

He looked at Harper. Now approaching seventy, he had retained charisma. His eyes were large and almost childlike, his face round and welcoming, but all Flack could see was a predator; one of society's viruses. He had met paedophiles and murderers and rapists before, but none had ever made him want to vacate the room like Harper's presence was doing. Flack sat back and tried to appear casual and relaxed. He did not want Harper to win this battle. Stubbornness set in like an iron rod and Flack distanced himself from reality, knowing that he needed to switch himself off completely and just be a cop.

"I'm still alive," Flack said, unable to resist.

"You weren't meant to die. You're too pretty," Harper said. Flack felt his skin crawl. "I just wanted to make sure that your father kept his mouth shut."

"And in the end you gave yourself away," Flack said.

Harper smiled, letting silence settle like a dirty blanket on an unmade bed. "But I proved I still had control. Even from inside I can torture and torment, and it doesn't matter how long you keep me in here for, I won't stop."

"Even in a high security wing?" Flack said. "You're not going to find any Fred Flintstone security guards willing to let your friends in there, you know. Even what you breathe out gets checked."

Harper laughed quietly, the sound sinister. Flack imagined it being heard by small children in the cellars, or adolescent boys as they realised what was about to happen next. "I will always have people helping me, hanging on my every word, Detective Flack. I always have. You will never know half of what I have done, no matter what notes Halmann left you, or what Casey Truro offers you in return for staying out of captivity. But I remember every scream, every scared look on their faces, every plea. Go look through your databases and see who went missing before 1978," he laughed. The noise was one of a sane man, and that unnerved Flack more.

"They should bring back the death penalty for you," Flack said. "What you've done is irrefutable, only they'd try and be humane when you deserved to be thrown to the dogs."

"It's nice to have your opinion, Donnie, but it doesn't really matter because that's never going to happen. I would like to tell you stories about your father – I can see you're a lot like him – but its pointless now. He'll have told you what he did, no doubt giving you the heroic version," Harper said.

"My father was a good cop," Flack said, surprised at his defence.

"Pity he was useless as a father," Harper said, sitting back in his chair, his eyes keenly interested in Flack's reaction. "You know, they squabble amongst themselves but you kick one and they all limp."

"What made you choose Malcolm Etchells to help you?" Flack said, not wishing to dwell on the conversation about his family.

"Changing the subject are we? I always imagined that Donald Flack's son would end up with daddy issues," he paused. "Malcolm was – is – infatuated with me. He is also a born killer. Hates women, is a latent homosexual but in severe denial. His obsession with dark haired women obviously stems from his mother. She was a beauty, but she was also a whore. She used to sleep with men in front of him and he talked of how she used to make them give him tips. The abuse clearly went further, and I wondered if he was made to commit incest, but he would never talk that in-depth about it. His mouth would shut up like a clam." Harper's eyes were filled with fascination.

"How did you recruit Casey Truro?" Flack said, not wanting to indulge Harper by allowing him to talk.

"That was Andy. I had nothing to do with Casey. I know he used his position as a counsellor to become involved with teenaged girls. That might be worth looking into, Detective," Harper said.

"Thanks for that piece of advice. We'll be sure to follow it," Flack said, unable to help the sarcasm. He sat back and regarded Harper. It was rare, thankfully, that he came across men like him, men for whom life meant nothing. He had sometimes wondered whether they knew something about the next world, whether life wasn't precious to them because there was something after, or whether it was psychopathy, although many of his traits didn't fit the characteristics of it. Whatever it was, Harper was one of the evils of this world and Flack did not want to spend much more time in his presence. There was little to learn from him. A cold case team had been given the task of reinvestigating the 78/79 case, and the statements so far gained from Malcolm Etchells and Casey Truro – especially the latter – meant that Harper would never again see the light of day.

"You know, Detective Flack," Harper said. "It's a pleasure meeting you. I recall seeing you when you were a small boy. Your father had brought you to the precinct where I was being interviewed. You were a pretty kid then. You were playing in one of the corridors when I was escorted passed. I believe you're a good cop – quite a few of my cell mates have met you at one time or another."

Flack nodded, unperturbed. "You aren't denying instigating the attacks on me and my sister?"

Harper shook his head. "It was fun."

"Fun that's cost you any chance of freedom."

Harper laughed. "There was no chance I would get parole. Some big burly guy would set on me and I'd somehow end up with a knife in my pocket. But," he licked his lips. "I'd waited twenty-nine years to ruin your father's life. I'd planned it way back, just waiting for the right pawns to be in place. And it worked. You hate him."

Flack smiled and said nothing. Had Harper won? The fractures in his relationship with his father had been there for a long time. It wouldn't have taken much of a slam for those fractures to turn into irreparable cracks. He stood up, looking down on the old man in front of him. "Hate is an emotion I reserve for people who are the scum of the earth. Thankfully, there are very few, but you are definitely one. May you rot in hell." He wrapped on the door and was let out by the guards and made his way out into the light of the day.

-&-

Light poured in through the windows, drowning the room in yellows and golds. The air had a playfulness to it, light breezes skipping past the blinds and round corners, cooling and blowing. It was a sanctuary; had been since the start, and he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to leave, not yet, not without her.

She sat on the sofa, feet up and a book in her hand, turning round to smile at him as he entered. "So how's life on a city salary?" she said, putting the book down beside her.

Flack hung his suit jacket over the back of the sofa and sat next to her. The light caught her hair and eyes and he smiled back, still on edge, still tense, but there was a remedy. "Better now I have two weeks vacation." Her eyes were speaking to him; he had begun to read them like a book. Even in the silence she spoke. "I talked with my dad."

"Did he tell you the reason why he wouldn't speak about the Harper case?" she said.

Flack nodded. "He was having an affair. Halmann knew and blackmailed him." She looked at him, eyes wide and questioning. "Where do we go from here?" he said. "The panic is over. In a few weeks I'll have found another apartment. What happens next?"

"Do we have to have a plan?" she said. "You don't have a game, so why plan out what we can work out as we go along."

Flack was quiet, listening to the air as it meandered along, through the rooms, moving her hair. "What if I'm like my father, Jessie?"

"That's your choice, isn't it?" her tone was soft, yet it contained the steel he was becoming used to.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said, his voice gruff. These were words he was not used to speaking.

"I don't think you would. If I did, I wouldn't be here now." She stood up and walked over to the window, looking out over the city, the air blowing her locks. "We can only see what happens, Flack. But I'm game if you are."

He watched her, her eyes darting across the view, missing nothing. "What does your father think of me?" he said, curious.

"Would it matter?" she turned round, challenging him.

"Yes. For you. You have a close family."

She shrugged. "Because we let each other have our own opinions. He likes you. Thinks you need your nose busting to look like a proper cop, but he thinks you're okay."

"Not one for giving flowers, is he?" Flack said.

She laughed. "How's your father, Don?"

He smiled at the use of his first name, it distracting him from thoughts of his dad. "I don't know how he is."

"Time will let you know," she said, her voice accepting.

"You not going to try to persuade me to forgive him, or go on some bonding trip into the country?" he said.

"No. You'll decide that in your own time. How's Amelia?" He found he was grateful for the change of subject. Her eyes rested on him as she turned her back to the window, her face an almost silhouette away from the light. The day breathed, giving life, giving light, a journey's end and a new route to take.

"She's getting there. My sister was always a tough cookie."

"She know about your dad?"

"Not the last time I spoke to her. She will suspect something – she's never been behind the door – she knew my first girlfriend had dumped me before I did. It's not for me to tell her though," he said. "She'll find out from him, or he'll confess."

She let the silence mingle with the air as it moved, whispering its secrets that none could understand. Her gaze met his, and he felt the electricity bolt through him again, wondering if it would ever run out of power.

"We survived," she said, finally. "We got them."

Flack nodded. "There was never any doubt."

-&-

The nurses had opened the windows wide, letting the breeze ride through them, cleaning the air in the small room. The noises from the machines were steady, giving no cause for concern. It was now just a matter of time before they knew the end of the events.

There had been a never-ending trail of visitors, some coming after visiting times, blind eyes being turned. For a man who hadn't lived in the city for very long he'd had a lot of guests. Whether he had been aware of any of them, the nurses didn't know.

Glass was still lain there, prone, white sheets tucked around him. His eyes were closed, but the muscles in his face were now relaxed, the tension had left them a few days ago. Whether this was because he was on his way into the next, the nurses were not sure. All they could do was wait.

Glass murmured something, a quiet word, uncatchable, the air stealing it away. Then a finger moved, the sheets disturbed. Sounds became noises as they were registered, and the air touched him, grazing the flesh that was exposed. He breathed in, deeply.

Glass opened his eyes.

_Please review._


	28. Epilogue Furniture's Architectured

_A/N: And so we come to an end. I have adored writing this fic. It's taken just over four weeks to write and I've enjoyed the experience so very much. My novel will be much better having written this._

_Thank you to all of those who have taken the time to review and comment - and what long and lovely reviews. Thank you to those who nominated me for the CSI:NY Fanfic awards, and to those who have voted._

_Also, I have to give major credit to Sonnet Lacewing, who not only beta-d this fic, but also provided many ideas and questioned me helpfully on the plot. You are the best possibly gap filler, my dear. I will no longer plan my stories, because I know you will never let me leave any holes._

_Thank you for reading, hope you enjoy this last little bit._

_The chapter title is taken from the lyrics of the new Coldplay song, 'Violet Hill'._

Epilogue – Future's Architectured

_4 Months Later_

"What do you think?" Flack asked as Angell stood there, her keen eyes examining her surroundings.

"I've already seen it at least four times," she said. "You sure you can afford this on a city salary?" She looked at him, eyes dancing with light.

He nodded sarcastically, attempting to goad her. "Old joke, Jessica." She smiled, not rising to his teasing. Three months of living with him had felt like a nice kind of forever. She was used to wit and snarky remarks, her own sense of humour had been sharpened by it, and they bantered rather than bickered. He had been good to come home to, and she wasn't sure how she felt now he had finally chosen an apartment, and seemed too happy about it.

"This is the one you preferred," he said, for what seemed like the hundredth time. "You think it seems better than the one we saw…"

"I think it's the best one," she said. "Three bedrooms, a bathroom, en-suite. The NYPD must be paying you a damn sight more than me."

"But you like it?"

She walked about the living room; it was airy and fresh, the ceiling high. "I like it," she said. "I think you'd be happy living here." She saw his face fall slightly, and he refused eye contact. They hadn't discussed him moving out. Rather like their relationship when it had just began, they had skirted around it, instead reading the ends of looks and the touches of fingers.

It felt like forever since the afternoon when Angell had followed Glass into the house in Queens. It was a lifetime ago since they had met for a drink after work and she had gone back to Flack's to pick up a DVD. Any concerns about their relationship had fallen by the wayside; he still went out drinking and shooting hoops with Danny, she still met her friends, but at the end of each day they were together. Now that was about to change.

In the four months since the arrest of Malcolm Etchells life had returned to an almost normal state. Amelia had found an apartment in Manhattan, reminding Don of just how annoying little sisters were after having to drive her home from the precinct one night after she turned up there, very inebriated. She'd picked herself up after her dealings with Etchells, blocking what had happened out of her memory and refusing to be a victim. Amy had, although her brother was unaware, been to see Etchells in custody, needing to see the man in the cold light of day. Etchells had become increasing disturbed since his arrest, his obsession with his mother becoming increasingly apparent in his mutterings, even in his sleep. His brother had confirmed many of the suspicions about their relationship, creating a psychologist's dream.

"It's about the same distance to work as your place," Flack said. Angell walked into the master bedroom, blocking Flack's voice from her head. She had heard this reasoning countless times as he had mulled over which was the better of the four apartments he had short listed. She had never imagined him to be so indecisive, considering his lightning quick mind – and wit. "The extra rooms will be useful. You know, the next time your folks come up they don't have to stay in a hotel."

Her ears pricked up. This was one argument he hadn't used before. Her father had stayed three times in the four months since, and she had appreciated having him around. At one point two of her brothers had turned up unannounced, both of them spending a good hour grilling Flack. It had amused her – and Danny - seeing him on the other end of rapid fire questions and teasing insults. It would also have been enough to send most men running for the hills, but Don had taken it in his stride. "You sure they didn't dust you for fingerprints when you got home from a date?" he'd said when they had been alone.

She'd laughed. "No, they just put a tail on me from the moment I left the house."

"You're serious, aren't you?" he'd said, completely taken in. Then he'd seen her smile victoriously, and had looked away, a grin on his lips.

"You would really want my father staying with you?" she said as he followed her into the bedroom. He nodded, nonchalant. "What about your parents? Do they figure in your plans?"

He shrugged. "When the time's right." They had met them for lunch on a couple of occasions. The conversation had been stiff and stilted between Flack and his father, but words had been exchanged. Forgiveness would come neither easily or quickly, but that did not mean it couldn't happen.

Flack moved over to the window, his back to it. Angell looked at him, unnerved by the almost apprehensive look in his eyes.

"You like it then?"

She nodded, unsure of why he kept repeating the question but finding her heart beating like the wings of a hummingbird.

"You think you could live here?" His head turned sideways, and she knew it was so he couldn't read her. She stood, keeping her back resting against the built in wardrobes.

Could she live here? Could she make this – what they had – permanent? She wasn't sure it was such a huge jump, it just meant that the safety net that had been under them would be removed.

"You know, Jess, don't hurry to answer. It's not like it's just you I'm asking to move all their shoes and make-up and stockroom to Macy's, I've got a few more girls on my list," he said, his eyes now fixed on her, reading her.

She laughed, the thick atmosphere between them breaking into fragments. "Do I want to contend with your snoring when you come in after being out with Danny, having drunk the city dry? Or put up with your 'game' nights…"

"Hey! You watch those with us? And after the last one, it was me carrying you to bed, having to undress you and all…"

"And that was a hardship, Flack, really!"

"You know, I do kind of get sick of you being in just your underwear," his eyes met hers and Angell felt the familiar current of electricity ripple through her.

"I guess you'll have to close your eyes more then, won't you?" she said.

He grinned, blue eyes flashing. "I'd say lose the underwear."

She glared. This was going to be fun.

-&-

He liked autumn days. The smell of the leaves as they ended reminded him of England, the sweet scent promising change and challenge. He stood at the open door, listening to the voices without being seen. They were too busy to notice him, something he was glad of.

Glass had always healed quickly, physically anyway. It was the emotional scars that took longer, but even they had faded somewhat. He had high hopes for the future, for New York and the relationships he was beginning to let himself form for the first time in a decade.

He heard Angell's voice as she accepted his offer of a new place to live and he smiled. It was as if the furniture had already been architectured, as if something somewhere had been predestined. He felt calmness settle within him as he listened, watching shadows move. Light had always been there at the end of the tunnel, but to see it, eyes had to be opened.

Glass bent down and placed his offering on the floor just inside the apartment. As an experienced officer and a rather senior detective, they should have known better than to have left the door wide open, but that would be a reprimand for another day. He heard the air fall silent and backed away, leaving a bottle of champagne, two flutes and a card as his mark. He hoped they realised that it was really only him and one or two others who had known their fate as they had danced their complicated steps around each other, doing their best to keep what was happening away from the water cooler and failing miserably. It had become a stale joke that should the power go again in the lab, Stella could simply plug her machinery into Flack and Angell instead.

He pulled the door behind him as he left, leaving the building and heading into the autumn air, the sky bright yellow as the sun sang the day's swan-song, darkening clouds punctuating the scene. He stopped for a second, moving out of the way of impatient passers-by, looking at the faces, the days they had had, the lives.

He stopped, and he watched.

_Please review!_

_I do hope to write some one shots, especially after reading the reviews for 4.20!!_


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